


82nd Strong

by your_taxidermy



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: American History, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Childhood Trauma, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Flashbacks, Gulf War, Jacob is a sweetie and i make the rules, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miller and Jake are best friends here, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre Canon, Pre cult, Trauma, Veterans, War Stories, War Trauma, War time, edens gate radio OUT, the backstreet boys are IN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_taxidermy/pseuds/your_taxidermy
Summary: Jacob Seed has seen enough war for 2 lifetimes, and yet he still runs back into the front lines of Iraq against Saddam and Afghanistan against the Taliban and Al-Queda terrorists. As he helps an Iraqi child, his bullets hit another target. Miller knows he must follow Jacob until the end, and when the unexpected happens, Jacob makes a choice that even surprises himself. War is hell and Jacob knew hell far before the war.  His endless war stories would never prepare him for the pain of homelessness and rejection from VA centers when money runs dry.





	1. Got Your Six

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this first chapter <3\. your support keeps my stories going!! <33  
> I love Jacob and wanted to craft my own version of his story before the events of FC5 <3 I love my wolf babe <3

Iraq. 1990. Gulf War

 

The hot sun was beaming down on Jacob and his brigade as they found refuge in a building in the middle of Mosul, rubble, and carnage surrounding them. Jacob glanced over at Miller, his shades hiding his crystal blue hues. They’d been waiting for orders from their general, the tides were calmer than usual and everyone knew when the tides were calm, ambushes, secret raids, and lord knows what else were generally coming soon, But this time? It was a pleasant surprise. 

 

It was hot, the air was dry in that rich August day. 12 PM. The sun beating down on their camo and rifle clad backs. Jacob leaned against the army truck, adjusting his jet black sunglasses. “Jake,” Miller called to him, taking long strides over to his partner. “Yeah?” he cocks a fire stained brow. “You wanna half this with me?” He tosses him a pack of ham slices and crackers packed away in airtight plastic. Jacob gave him a nod and slowly took his shades off to better read the pack. “Shit, they give us the worst kind, huh?” he chuckled to himself. The most recent EMR’s they got were from 87’, still good ‘course, but they weren’t a favorite among 82 AB. 

 

Jacob slid down the side of the truck and placed his rifle beside his thigh, cracking open the bag and taking a bite of the salty meat. Miller tossed him a glass and the god awful drink mux they gave them. Jacob filled it with water and messily mixed the packet with his hands. “Fingers were invented before forks, Miller,” Jacob took a sip of the water before glancing down at his map. “We should get moving once the Man gives us order, we’re just on the outskirts of Mosul now.” 

 

They’d been in Mosul just a few days, pushing Saddam’s men out, Jacob still remembers the charred remains of an Iraqi soldier trapped under a burning truck, his arms still sticking out in hopes someone would grab him and free him from the flames. Jacob only found him after the fact, he nudged his fingers with his boot and watched as the burned remains turn to dust on his boot. 

 

Still, it haunted his dreams. It was even worse when he had to be awake for days at a time, he saw the man in his reflection and he wanted to tear out his own eyes to make it go away. He took another bite of the meat, the cold, slimy texture making his throat ache. Miller tossed him another packet, chicken noodle soup. He had a plan to heat it over the engine of the powerful truck. His boot laces were tight, his feet aching from all the walking he’d done the past 72 hours. He kicked the dirt with his heel and in the corner of his eyes, he saw a small, skinny figure wondering in his direction. He swallowed hard and picked his rifle up, peaking behind the truck’s back end to take a look. It sure as hell wasn’t one of Saddam’s men. 

 

He walked to the figure, seeing the rags he donned ripped and stained with dirt. A child. 

Jacob knew he’d look scary to the small, dazed child. His eyes softened at the figure, only seeing his own baby brother. The child’s face was dirt stained and cheekbones sticking out, slices and cuts littering his face. Jacob crouched, his boots digging into the sand. He extended his hand to the child, his gloves thick and worn, faint stains of blood he couldn’t wash out was still there. The child read the 82 on his arm and knew he was American. Americans invading a country children adored and cherishes, only to see bombs and dead men littering the streets. Both Iraqi and American bullets were fired, brothers in rivalry and hate for one another. Though Jacob didn’t hate anyone, Jacob hated why he was here. He hated what he’s done, he hates the face of power and creed that he stands in front of. He knows he’s going to die here. One day and he hopes it’s in a battle because what else is he without a weapon? 

 

The child collapsed on the ground in front of him, skinning his knees and elbows. Jacob took one step and arrived at the child’s side. “Hey! Hey, wake up now, don’t go dying on me, kiddo.” Jacob gently taps his cheeks. Nothing. “Miller! Get your ass over here, bring water and antiseptic!” Jacob ordered, his booming voice shaking the mountains around them. Jacob wasn’t one to save a life, he thought he was over here to shoot people and bring back a Purple Heart. Not save little children and nurse them to health, knowing full well this could be an ambush by Iraqi soldiers. He just saw a child, a baby brother, an innocent caught in the crossfire of his bullshit. 

 

John. Just like John. Miller rushed over to the scene, boots against the ground like a stampede of horses. “‘Ere,” Miller handed him the water and Jacob ripped his glove off with his teeth, dumping some water in his hands to cool the child down. He swept the child into his arms and carried him into the shade. “Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” he gently poured water on his face and washed his eyes and let the water run down his neck and chest. The young child opened his eyes to reveal the same blue eyes as his little brother. He was met with a smile from Jacob, so endearing the boy felt safe in the arms of the soldier. “You okay, bud?” Jacob asked slowly, touching his face. “I bet you’re hungry, huh?” Jacob leaned the child against the truck and peeled off his jacket for the child to sit on. “Uhhh… I don’t have a whole lot for you, kid, but do you want the rest of my food?” Jacob held the water bottle to his lips and slowly helped him drink, cold water running down his chin. “Shh shh, easy now,’ Jacob cooed, taking the water away so the child could sit up. He started the engine to the truck, the heat building up in the machine. He cracked open the soup bag and poured it into a metal container. It began to boil rapidly and Jacob’s eyes followed each burst of the bubbles and seasonings spreading out. 

 

“Here,” Jacob mixed it around and rested it on the ground in front of the child. He had a container of crackers and he broke them up in the soup for the child. That was  **_his_ ** meal but someone needed it more than him. Jacob always was thinking of someone else before himself. Stealing candy for his brothers, taking their belt lashes, and how feeding an orphan of war his food. Jacob saw John in that boy, he saw John in his pretty blue eyes. “Don’t burn yourself, eat slow.” 

 

The child didn’t say anything as he took a bite of the soup. The first thing he ate in days. Miller saw Jacob sitting on the ground beside the babe, his cheeks red and peppered. “You ain’t so bad, are you, Seed?” Miller chuckled. 

 

Jacob rolled his eyes but the smile was so visible in his cheeks. “Who said I was bad?” he retorted with a middle finger to his friend. Young Jacob Seed was an ornery little bastard. 19 but still a child at heart. Still just a baby with mean looking eyes and a scary build. Broad shoulders that could carry the same as oxen. The young man loved to bring a fight to the other side, the teenage boy who loved to pick a fight, maybe a fight too big to handle. He didn’t care; just as long as he didn’t lose. “What’s your name, kid?” Jacob asked. “Jacob, you dumbass, you really think he knows English?” One of his team members said, “C’mon, we’re in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere in some fuckin dessert. You think he knows much of anything?” 

 

Jacob shot a glare at the man. “Hey, shut the fuck up,” Jacob hisses. Why was he so protective of this child? “Miller, do me a favor and shut him up before I do it for him. Tough guy over here can’t stand to spare a bit for a kid. Fucking coward.” Jacob’s temper was given to him by the devil himself, don’t go pissing in his cornflakes unless you want to feel the wrath of God. 

 

Jacob turned back to the child and wrote in the ground with his fingertip: My name is Jacob.

 

The child read the text and slowly drew in reply: Nazim. 

 

Jacob thought for a moment: R U injured? 

 

“N-no.” 

 

“You know English, Nazim?” Jacob questioned, inspecting the neat lettering on the sand, seeing how neat and proper they were. “Yeah.” 

 

“Finish your food, okay? Drink your water but drink slowly. I’ll stay with you.” 

 

Jacob searched for something the young child could play with, but there were no stuffed animals in the heart of war. 

 

The child was a product of greed. Money. Terror. Jacob knew that, that child was in this situation purely on misfortune.

 

Jacob was no different from that child; here purely by bad luck and misfortune. 

 

When evening fell, Jacob saw that same child lingering around their base, perhaps to find decent shelter when bombs didn’t fall on American bases. 

 

Jacob sat beside Miller, eyes scanning the open desert and miles and miles of empty land, Iraqi soldiers were littering the valleys of dead men, slaughtering enemies in their path; much like the American troops. Politics are the only thing those separate soldiers from murderers.

 

Murderers kill for pleasure, soldiers kill on demand. If there was no high demand for death, Jacob and all his friends wouldn’t be in an Iraqi desert with killing machines in their hands. 

 

Surprisingly enough, Iraq is cold at night. The stars above them glittering like gold. When bullets can be heard a mile away, Jacob knows, he knows what is going to come next. Bullets fire again, empty shells littering the ground. He jumps to his position with Miller, scoping out the area with his eagle eyes. A group of Iraqi soldiers pissing bullets at the captured Americans. Nothing angers Jacob more but he knows their purpose. 

 

“Sniper ready,” Jacob lets out a low growl as he waits for his spotter to give the order. 

 

“There’s a sniper up in the tree line, half a click away.”  Miller scopes it out for Jacob before giving him the next signal. 

 

“Target spotted, green rifle, black and green uniform.” 

 

“Affirmative. Spotter ready.” 

 

Jacob adjusts his scope, getting a clear view of the hidden sniper. Jacob knows the sniper sees him too. He knows if he strikes now, he’ll miss, a second too late, he doesn’t fire at all. 

 

It’s one shot, one kill. 

 

Jacob had a clear shot. His trigger finger is still as stone, listening to the radio chatter on his hip. “Target adjusted approximately 0.6 meters.” 

 

Jacob knows what’s going to happen. 

 

A standoff between two snipers. He’s preparing to take out Jacob. But Jacob knows they know they’ll hurt him more if they take out Miller. A sniper is nothing without his spotter. 

 

Soldiers aren’t fools, their brains are all the same. Shoot. Kill. Shoot. Kill. Aim. Kill. It’s simple thought. 

 

“Miller get down,” Jacob orders quickly, he can feel the enemy pulling at his trigger to take him out. Miller doesn’t question it, he hides behind Jacob and waits. He’s useless without his scope.  Jacob has to use his own judgment now that his spotter of out of bounds for his own safety. 

 

When a bullet rips through the air, It moves to at 1,700 MPH. Jacob is given less than half a second to think, to move, to pull his own trigger. Both snipers are stalking each other, who’s going to pull first? 

 

Jacob was muttering to himself, waiting; it felt like years before he knew he could make a choice. “Jacob,” Miller whispers, “you need me.” 

 

Jacob’s lips curl into a subtle smile, he knows he does. “I know,” he says, and the moment he finished his words, he pulled his trigger just as the Iraqi did. 

 

The enemy soldier was dead the moment his finger snatched that trigger. 

 

Jacob knew. 

 

The enemy bullet flew through the air and hit the side of Jacob’s helmet. 

 

“ _ Sniper ready,”  _ Jacob says in a flash, hitting the spotter. He exhales and rolls over onto his back, resting a hand on his chest, his heart is beating a million miles a second. 

 

He wasn’t scared, the anticipation was killing him and when it ended, his body was shaking with adrenaline and pure excitement. Not the happy kind either. He still amazed himself at what he could do, he could think with the speed of light and pull his trigger even faster. “You saved my life, Seed.” Miller sat down beside him and playfully jabbed him in the chest. “Don’t mention it.” 

 

“Don’t mention it... “ Jacob caught his breath and shut his eyes, chapped lips slowly parting as his tongue rested on the edge of his bottom teeth. He looked up at the sky and thanked God for having him live another day. “C’ mon, we better head back to the base.” Jacob pulls an old photo of him and Joseph sitting at their D&D table, little John sitting on Jacob’s lap. His heart ached when he saw the photo but that’s who he was fighting for. Jacob was both a lover and a fighter, he would be damn sure he would fight for what he loved. 

 

D&D was the brothers ‘ escape after harsh beatings, the storytelling and magical beasts displayed in their heads were far enough to mask the pain and suffering they had just endured. John was too young to understand but it made him happy to see his brothers laughing and smiling. Their tear-stained cheeks became red with laughter as they did silly things and won battles against orcs and dragons. Maybe even orcs on dragons. It made him think back to the unrelenting rage he felt in that house. 

 

Jacob harbored so much rage when he was just a child, 15-year-old Jacob was ready for a fucking war.  _ “I’ll fucking kill him! I swear to fucking GOD I’ll bash his brains in!”  _ Teenage Jacob would vent to his brother, Joseph. “ _ He thinks he can fucking hurt me? I’ll make the fucker burn.” That same urge to protect John and Joseph showed itself when he wanted to protect Miller.  _

 

There was little difference between 19-year-old Jacob and 15-year-old Jacob. Strong. Protective. Onery. Still the same wolfish child. 

 

Jacob knew. 

 

No matter the cause, Jacob would stand beside you. He would run to battle with you, he would carry you back, he would run pull you from a landmine. That was Jacob. 

 

Miller pulled him up and they walked back to their base only to see bullets littering the ground. Only one had died and Jacob was heartbroken. “There were enemy snipers,” one man explained. 

 

Jacob knelt down by the dead soldier and knew he saved the rest. “Enemy is dead. I shot him. Take him out of here.” 

 

Jacob patted the man’s shoulder and his eyes were met with the horror of brain matter on the ground, his skull shattering several feet away from his body. The blood still pouring from his skull and his eyes. Jacob’s heart felt like it was being ripped from his ribcage. Up and under. 

 

If only he would have gotten there sooner. His body was cleared out and Jacob hoisted himself on the truck bed. “I’m catching some shut-eye. Watch my back.” 

 

Miller nodded. 

 

They said a soldier could fall asleep anywhere, in just 120 seconds. Don’t think. Don’t think about not thinking. Just exist. _**Sleep.**_

  
  



	2. 10 Day Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon any mistakes written, I ran this through Grammarly and skimmed over <3 few edits have been made. enjoy.

It’s morning, it’s cold. 

 

Jacob still hasn’t gotten used to this Iraqi weather; the freezing nights and the raging hot days. 

 

Jacob knows. 

 

He knows. He knows. 

 

The soldier checks his watch, looking down at the ticking hands, watching the seconds turn to minutes. Jacob watched as Miller slept, his eyes trailing to the untied laces on his boots. Disaster will strike if he just leaves them hanging. He slowly reaches over to tie them into bunny ears, double knotting them for extra security. When suddenly, Miller jolted awake in a scream, night terrors and vivid dreams of war plaguing his mind. No matter the battlefield or homestead, a soldier’s mind never rests. Jacob’s gaze went to Miller’s face and his brow was knitted in fear. His lips were dry, his mouth even more so. Jacob tossed him his container of water and patted his thigh.  _ It’s alright soldier. Keep on.  _

 

“Hey, you okay?” Jacob asked, his voice still hoarse from the morning. Miller nods, sloppily wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He knows. So does Jacob 

 

“We’re moving out at 14-100, okay? Eat up and make sure ya got all your stuff.” 

 

Jacob leaves him to get ready, his watch still ticking. 

 

The base is littered with stray bullet shells harboring souls of dead men and children. He picked up a few strays and slipped them into his pocket; surely he could mold them into a toy for John, or tell him a crazy story how he survived getting shot in the heart. Anything to impress his precious brothers. 

 

Jacob’s eyes are dilated, his heart seemingly paused in time just as his watch stops. He can feel bullets wanting to pelt him, he can feel enemy snipers stalking him. 

 

Jacob was always a hunter, it’s either you hunt, or you’re the hunted. Jacob would never be the hunted. 

 

He knows they’re watching, he knows they’re waiting. 

 

He knows they’re waiting for him to make the wrong move. Metallica was playing over the radio, their very first album. He drums his boot into the ground, nostalgia filling him up. He remembers blasting it from the CD in his truck just to annoy his parents as he drove little Joseph around the dirt roads, flooring the gas and making sudden stops; the old truck never went above 50mph. 

 

The Iraqi soldier modifies his scope and has a clear shot of Jacob’s face, a bullet right between his eyes would blow his brains out of his ears if he pulled it now. Now wasn’t the time. Nightfall would be just right. Americans didn’t know the layout as the natives did and they both knew that. 

 

Time slowly passes. 

 

Jacob still knows. 

 

He can’t shake the thought. 

 

He sat down on the hood of the truck and watched as the child from the day before runs up to him, but yet another child is running with him. A little girl, maybe around 10 years old. 

 

A smile is plastered on Jacob’s face, his teeth visible and sheepish. The wolf with an honest sheepy grin?  _ Now that’s Jacob Seed.  _

 

“Heya,” Jacob greeted the children with a two-finger wave. “This is my sister, Bhadra.” Jacob perked a brow at the little girl. She wasn’t shy like her brother, she ran right up to the soldier, giving him a square of chocolate wrapped in a paper towel. He unwrapped it to see the sweet. He felt wrong eating it all to himself, so he carefully broke it into thirds, one for himself, the others for the children. “Tell me, Miss Bhadra,” he began, tossing her the candy. 

 

“-do you like to play games?” he asked with a boyish smirk. 

“I do!” 

Jacob liked what he heard. 

 

“Alright, why don’t you take a seat beside me, your brother on your side.” 

 

They all sat in a triangle, Jacob of course, taking up most of the room. 

 

“Hold your hands like this, like you’re praying.” he showed them how to hold their hands, just like he showed little John to play. “I’ll go first. We’re gonna play  _ Bubble Gum Bubble Gum.  _ I choose a number, whomever I land on, must separate their hands into fists. Whoever loses both hands, is out of the game. Okay, got it?” 

 

Jacob chose 15 counts. 

 

He landed back on himself. He separated his hands into fists. Little did they know, Jacob was strategic with his numbers. The sniper used his advanced skills in mathematics (Now, of course, it’s simple counting, but Jacob HAD to be dramatic.) Laughter was filling the air as Jacob casually talked about Western TV and music, expressing his dislike of the latest pop music, much preferring the heavy metal and rock from his time.  _ Judas Preist fucking killed it.  _ The big brother always had to tease the young ones for their newer tastes, it was only right. “Mhm, maybe you’ll get to see them one day. I saw ‘em live when I was a kid.  _ Best time of my life.”  _

 

“Huh, you’re not a kid anymore?” Little Bhadra asked. 

Jacob’s face fell silent for a moment. “Nah. I ain’t. Haven’t been a kid for a  _ long time. _ ” His own words made his heart ache but now wasn’t the time for sadness. Weapons don’t weep. “How old are you now?” Jacob had a moment of realization. He was barely a man himself, still a child in a war made for men of steel. 

 

“I’m 19.” 

 

He looked older than he was, perhaps it was the years of stress piled on his shoulders. Being a father to his brothers when he was just a boy. Being a soldier became he entered Fort Bragg to enroll in Airborne school. He was a soldier long before then. The moment his back tasted the cracked leather belt of Old Man Seed he was a soldier. His first battle was at an old farmstead with his brothers. Smelling of gasoline and sweat, lighting matches against his boot and watching as the flames purified the cursed property. Flames dancing in his baby blue eyes as the overwhelming happiness came over his heart and mind. The feelings of euphoria when he beat the face in of his so-called guardian.  The so-called dad who was just like Old Man Seed. Jacob carried too much pride to be worked like a dog in the blistering heat while his brothers suffered. He remembered so vividly the blood spattering on his face, his youthful eyes so tainted. To think that wasn’t so long ago. 

 

Jacob was only 17 when he snapped and burned everything to the ground. He regrets nothing; if he could do it again and make the pain even worse, he would. He didn’t say anything when he assaulted the ‘father’ he was supposed to love. All he could do was release the vivid rage and merciless beatings to the man who, yet again, took so much from him. He still thought of his brothers. He thought of them as he spat in the face of his CO at the juvie he spent a decent amount of time. He much preferred his fellow delinquent ruffians. Only when they wanted to knock him down a few pegs, young, rebellious Jacob Seed wasn’t going to sit for it. But soon those same rebel boys and girls wanted to be his friend and follow in his lead. He always did have a sense of leadership and honor, stated by his CO’s and multiple therapists. 

 

“Wooooow,” the little boy admired  Jacob’s older age and already growing facial hair. Only he had shaved it just recently so his baby cheeks were still visible. “I wanna be like you when I grow up, Jake!” Nazim exclaimed. “Shut up Nazim, Allah knows you’ll never be as cool as him.” 

 

Jacob laughed. “You think  _ I’m  _ cool?” 

“Well yeah! You get to carry cool guns and use  _ radios.”  _

“Hah! Well, maybe you have a point. I’m the coolest of my brothers too.” 

“You have a brother?!” Nazim’s eyes lit up as he questioned Jacob. 

“Yeah. I have two brothers. I’m the oldest.” Jacob thought back o his younger brothers. “Here,” Jacob suddenly reached into his pocket, digging for the photo of him and his brothers. 

 

“This’ns me, that’s my middle brother, Joseph, and that dorky-looking’ one, my baby brother, John.” The pair of children admired his photo, their eyes going to the wicked smirk little Jacob had. Bhadra carefully handed the photo back and went back to their game. 

  
  


The game went on for a solid 10 minutes until Jacob’s radio began to buzz against his chest. His blue hues traveled to the radio and part of him started to wonder what would happen to these children. “Lima Charlie. On my way in 10,”  he replied into the mic. He slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes and carefully pulled his jacket up over his shoulders. “Listen, are you gonna be okay walking back your house alone?” he asked, tilting his shades down. Before the children could reply, a woman came to collect them. “Nazim! Bhadra! What are you doing out here?!” Their mother called for them. Jacob escorted them to the hijabi. 

 

“These babes yours? You’ve got some sweet kids on your hands, ma’am.” 

 

The woman welcomed her kids into her arms and offered a smile to Jacob. “They’re not bothering you, are they?” 

 

“No. No, not at all. Good company in fact.” 

 

Jacob gave the same two-finger wave goodbye to them before departing. 

 

Jacob knew. He walked back to the powerful army truck and hopped in the back, Miller driving him back to the base. He examined the old photo of his brothers, his eyes softening from igneous stones to the softness of clouds. “Who’d ya leave behind, Jake?” Miller asked as he parked the truck. “Brothers. Little ones.” 

 

“Damn. That’s rough. I left behind my girlfriend and baby sister. Still, miss em a lot. Used to take my sister to school before I left. She graduates from high school this year. Hope I’ll be there.” 

 

Jacob wished all the best for his friend. “Yeah. I hope you’re there too. Bet she’s a pretty girl. Got a pic of her?” Jacob loved Miller more than words, his friend, his protector, his second pair of eyes. 

 

Miller fished through his pockets of the photo of his younger sister. He handed Jacob the photo. 

 

“Her name’s Vivienne,” Miller said softly, he was so proud of his baby sister. “A honor roll too.” 

 

Jacob inspected the photo of her. “Wow. She’s a pretty girl. Clearly didn’t get it from you, Miller,” he had to crack a joke. “You’re coming to her grad party too. Don’t care what ya say.” 

 

Jacob smiled wide. “Huh, you sure she’d want me there?” 

 

Miller scoffed. “Of course, Jake. Besides, she thinks you’re cute. Sent her a photo of all of us a few weeks ago. She loved it.” 

 

Jacob’s cheeks become rosy and he turned his head away in a flushed scoff. 

 

“Pfft.” 

 

“Haha! What? Got  a puppy crush, Seed?” 

 

“In your dreams, Miller. In your wildest dreams.” 

  
  
  


Slowly, the day fell into a chilly night. The brigade traveled slowly, through the night as massive army trucks plowed through sand and soft patches of grass littering the open map. But oh lord, Jacob knew. 

 

Stars were cascading down on the truck windows, the orchestra of howling wolves and insects chirping under the starlit sky. 

 

Jacob was sitting beside Miller, leaned into his stone shoulder, padded with thick army gear. The fire in front of them was sparkling in their eyes, Jacob’s blue and Miller’s green. 

 

Jacob can feel sniper eyes on him but there’s nothing he can do, he waits like the apex predator lurking deep within it. 

 

The sky is pitch black, the heat is masked by a cool breeze and the world was still. Jacob was still as he watched the hungry birds circle above waiting for dead men to arise, spitting out bullets and metal shards. 

 

Jacob slowly reached for his knife on his thigh and waited, his eyes still and ready. “Jacob?” asked one of the youngest soldiers. Only freshly 18 and on his first our, Finn, had clung to Jacob’s strong personality and leadership role. “You okay?” 

 

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine, buddy.”

Finn gave him a soft smile and drew faces in the sand to pass the time. “So, um, did any of you guys leave someone?” he asked innocently. 

 

“We’ve all left someone, Finn.” Jacob cooed deeply, thinking back to his brothers. 

 

“My momma ended up dying o’ cancer just before I left. Guess I gotta fight for her even harder now.” Finn added. 

 

“I barely had a momma, Finn. Just a walking ghost of a woman, surprised she didn’t drop all of us on our head,” Jacob laughed to himself. 

 

Jacob shifted a smidge. “Yeah. Barely had my mom,” Miller chimed in like a broken tune. 

 

Soldiers were just a group of misunderstood boys looking for that calling. Jacob found his.

 

Jacob glanced over at Finn for a moment before feeling his heart drop. He didn’t know if it was anxiety or trustworthy instincts that made him sense the worst to come. 

**_Bang._ ** Finn’s skull was blasted into the ground and Jacob pulled Miller out of the way before more bullets could be fired. “FUCK! Son of a bitch!” Jacob screamed, gritting his teeth, tears resting in his eyes. “SHIT. FUCK!” He cursed as sniper bullets pelted the trucks, ricocheting off the metal. Jacob felt scared, he didn’t know if he’d make out alive in this or not. No matter if he was stupid and damn brave, he ran out from behind the truck and tackled the Iraqi soldier standing by the truck, stabbing him in the neck and moving over the next soldier in just a flash. He felt the sniper’s bullets hit the body he shielded himself with the dead man’s body. He collapsed on the ground behind an enemy truck that had pulled up to the American base. 

 

Jacob felt a pair of hands grabbed his neck from behind to pull him up. Jacob got a look in the man’s eyes and saw the same blue as Joseph’s. He broke free and pulled a knife out on the soldier who held just the same. He went to slash Jacob’s face but he managed to duck under and avoid the brutal slash. “Miller! Get outta here!” he shouted as he lunged at the man, slashing at his chest. 

 

Jacob knew all along and wasn’t going to die here. Miller jumped to his aid and stabbed the Saddam soldier in the back before grabbing his own weapon to disarm him. A bullet went flying in the air and the Iraqi soldier hit the ground. More soldiers were flooding in, sand kicking up and the booms of grenades ripping through the air. Jacob lost his radio in the crossfires. As smoke was billowing around him, he fell into the ground and crawled under the enemy truck, the smoke filling his lungs and chest. He violently coughed, spitting up sand and stray gun powder. His eyes met with Miller’s as they both hid under the trucks, gunfire sending a hot rush through both their bodies. 

 

War was not pretty and Jacob knew that; he had lived in war zones his entire life. 

 

Jacob crawled from truck to truck, slowly making his way to Miller. Bullets were flying left and right, the few American soldiers still standing. Jacob spat into the ground, looking at the dust building in his lungs he finally coughed up. He was just one truck away from Miller and mouthed the words  _ stay.  _

 

Jacob pulled a grenade from his hip and pulled the pin out with his teeth, rolling it out from under the truck. The explosion was massive, shrapnel flying all over and even into his neck and cheeks. He did what he had to do to save himself and his friend. That would not be the only time that happened and Jacob had grown used to it by now. Jacob’s heart was pounding, biting into his hands to suppress the stinging pain of hot metal sticking in his face and neck. The waiting hurt more than the burns, having to wait for a moment to flee from the predators just before his eyes. 

 

He waited for the smoke to die down and his eyes were met with the bloody army of dead men lying on the ground, still twitching and writhing in agony. “We gotta go.” 

 

Jacob left the safety of the truck and pulled Miller out from the other. Their trucks were damaged and they’d be shot down by American pilots if they drove the Saddam trucks. 

 

So they walked. 

 

And walked. 

 

And walked. 

 

When morning came, they were left in the wide, open desert. Jacob sat down on the ground, exhausted and drained from the night before. The hot sand burned his bare hands as he rested. “I lost my radio in the ambush,” he broke out.    
“Here too.” 

 

Jacob took a heavy gulp of lukewarm water, his mouth dry and bare. Miller took the water and wiped the sweat from his brow. Two soldiers lost in the middle of the desert, no food or radio. “My fucking rations are back at the camp,” Jacob cursed, his fists clenched tight in anger. “Son of a bitch! If Saddam’s men don’t kill us, starvation and heat strokes will.” He had no other choice but to start walking. 

 

DAY 2 

 

He didn’t expect for the Middle East to have wolves. The wolves watched as the two men walked to the south to their nearest base, there was no way they could walk 100 miles in a day. Let alone a week. Jacob continued to share his water with Miller as their feet dragged the sand, the faint sound of wolves snapping at each other could be heard in the distant mountains. They were fresh out of ammo and had no real way to protect themselves. “Miller, we’re fucking lost.” 

 

“No. No, we are not. I know where we’re going.” 

“Do you? Do you?! We. Are. Fucking. Lost.” Jacob snapped back, the heat rushing over his limbs, sweat drenching his uniform. His vision was hazy and weak, he swore he could see a flowing river just a few meters away. 

 

His stomach was grumbling from the hunger, already 24 hours since his last meal. He’d gone much longer than that but it wasn’t something he enjoyed. Jacob had a big appetite and that never would change 

 

Miller followed the map and Jacob followed close behind. Images of John and Joseph flash before his tired, dry eyes. He swears he sees them beside him. 

 

Miller noticed his watch had stopped ticking and when he looked over at Jacob, wrists displayed, the very annoyed Jacob Seed shrugged. “Reckon you’ll need a new watch if we make it outta this.” 

 

The walking was getting boring, Jacob was itching to shoot what he deemed to be terrorists and that rush of blood and adrenaline when he pulled that trigger was so addicting. But he just continued to march on. 

 

He watched as the wolves on the high mountains stalked the slowly dying men, their dinner would be baked hot in the sun in just a few more days. “The wolves are on our tail,” Jacob muttered to his buddy, he seemed to be taking this a lot worse. 

 

There’s an emptiness looming above them, no matter if it’s their empty stomachs or machine guns. Jacob missed his brothers even more in times of crisis and turmoil. He just thought to himself  **_what would I do if they were here with me and I had to keep them safe?_ **

 

Jacob had vivid memories of wicked beatings all for the sake of his brothers. He took the belt so his brothers may live in peace. His anger mutated in fierce hate and that hate fueled him.  His hate made him strong enough to pull the trigger and hunt down human beings for a living. 

  
  


DAY 3

* * *

* * *

 

 

At this point, Jacob knew they were lost. He just knew. He just fucking knew. 

 

His body was still running off the energy he was struggling to make, his muscles feeling like they were melting right under his skin. Taking a heavy gulp of water, he handed the rest of that cantine to Miller. His mouth felt like the sandy ground underneath them and the only thing keeping him going was that graduation party.

 

Jacob finally stopped running his mouth by the third day as he became too tired to speak. His mind was a blank page and he found it impossible to spill the ink. His bones, his muscles, his heart were aching. His bones felt like they were turning to stone inside of him, sickness taking over his body with each step. His muscles crying for rest as he pushed passed his pain. Gags and heaves escaped him every few miles, how he wanted to throw up the water but his body help it down in sickening wretches. The noble, the steadfast Jacob Seed was a walking mess; saliva running down his chin and sweat quite literally dripping from his face. 

 

_ He was starving. His stomach was aching and by god, that man was so hungry.  _

 

He continued to drink the water slowly but surely, making sure he didn’t throw it back up in the blistering heat. 

 

Jacob heard the wolves howling in the distance, wide, open desert all around them, the world was blending into one mass and Jacob could feel himself losing his grip. 

 

Miller was the first to throw up his water, wanting so badly so dig at the sand to savor the liquid. He was shifting from side to side, his mouth agape and dry. The dryness of his eyes became painful and his skin was tight with dried sweat and saliva. 

 

Jacob knew he was a goner. The sun was beaming down on them, their footsteps sinking deeper and deeper into the hot sand. Miller’s feet were burning on the inside of his heavy boots just along with Jacob. 

 

Jacob handed Miller the last bit of water he had on him and they marched on to the south, hoping to find a base or the rest of their team. 

 

_ Day 6 _

* * *

* * *

 

 

_ No water. No water, no salvation. No salvation, death is inevitable.  _

 

“Jacob,” Miller heaved, “we’re gonna die. We’re gonna… we’re gonna fucking die.” Jacob leaned against a lone tree, resting in the shade with his hat over his face to block the beaming sun. “Yeah. Yeah, fucking probably. We gotta keep moving. C’mon. I’ll carry your ass if I gotta.” 

 

Miller shook his head. His brain was slowly eating away at his muscles to keep his brain active, he swore he could feel his muscles being devoured away by his strongest organ. He moaned lowly, the sunburn on his face making him feel even hotter with each movement. He laid on the ground, his body shutting down with each passing second. Death seemed like a gift now. 

 

Jacob only drowned out the noise and heat, his mind was rested still at the moment, his body was hot but he maintained a cool composer as sweat dripped down his temples. His hair was itchy and soaked, he’d kill for an ice bath right about now. 

Miller struggled to move his legs and he knew he was going to die with Jacob. “I can’t, I need…” he slurred. 

 

“Don’t talk,” Jacob said flatly, hyperfocused on letting the sun pass by. He could almost feel the wolves breathing down his neck. He imagined them ripping into him, licking their chops clean of his red hot American blood. He always imagined himself dying a death of glory and might, bullets pelting his body and knives in his back. Not of a heat stroke covered in vomit and sand. 

 

Something snapped in Jacob, his eyes jolted open and imagined cutting into the succulent flesh in front of him. No. He’s losing it. He’s losing his sanity in this heat. 

 

But it would be so easy, kick him while he’s down, plunge a knife into his throat. Don’t look in his eyes as you take your own survival in your hands. A wolf rattled in his internal cage, the hunger driving his heart and mind. The wolf was starving and he knew the prey was weak now. It would be so easy. One swift motion and cut away and leave his carcass to be taken back by the land. The idea became more appealing with each passing moment. Jacob twitched in his daze, his fingers digging into the sand, the insufferable sounds of Miller’s death driving him fucking crazy. His legs were now useless and he was going to bake in the sun of Jacob didn’t act quickly. 

 

Day 8

* * *

* * *

 

  
  
  


The wolf lost his patience. His loyalty had run dry because when a dog is hungry, loyalty does not exist.  The wolves had moved closer to him and Jacob was agitated and hungry, slowly becoming one with them. His mouth was watering as his mind was slowly breaking, his brain felt like it would split in half with the raging headache he was suffering. He knew no one was coming to save them, he knew he was all alone. Again. 

 

Miller was already dead, to begin with. He was weak and unworthy of the flag he wore on his arm. Jacob could not take this hunger anymore and Miller was looking more and more delicious. He removed his hat from his face and spat onto the ground, his tongue feeling like sandpaper against his cracked, bloody lips. His mind was racing as he leaned on the tree, watching at vultures flew above them, waiting for them to die. “Jake,” Miller groaned, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Jacob thought about it again, again, and again. The repetition starting to make sense over the course of the week. Slash his throat, rip the muscle from his bones. Gristle and all. Picking his teeth with the pile of bones lying at his feet, licking his chops with the wolves alongside him. Ferality was running through his bloodstream, the thrill of the hunt making his eyes twitch; his body fighting for survival and hierarchy. He  _ would  _ defeat the weak, he  **_would_ ** survive. And God knows he  _ will  _ survive. 

 

He pulled his knife from his hip with shaky, unsteady hands. He had to think about every step, every move, everything. He thought back to the grad party he was supposed to go to, seeing young Vivienne Miller in her uniform, smiling, being happy. That no longer mattered anymore. 

 

His hands were shaky just like his breath. It was an act of mercy in a way, putting the man out of his misery, his crippling despair, and pain. It was cruel to leave a dying dog to suffer, was it not?

 

Jacob never thought of himself as a merciful man, he wasn’t god, nor did he ever claimed to be. It took a special kind of person to shoot humans from a distance where they can not see you. 

 

Jacob lived a boyhood of war and a manhood of battle, he’d won many battles but the war had eaten him alive. There was no escape. 

 

It took a lot of guts to strangle his friend. He used his jacket sleeves to wrap tightly around his neck, cutting off flow to the brain. Miller tried to grab at the sleeve, pulling it away from his neck to breath. He choked, struggling to fight for his life but Jacob was the one who won in the end. “Jacob,” he choked out, his eyes feeling like they were going to pop from his skull. “ _ I can’t breath. I can’t… breath. Breath. I can’t.”  _ Jacob didn’t care. If he spared everyone who begged him not to kill them, his kill count would be much lower. His wicked guardian begged him not to beat his face in. Did Jacob listen? 

  
  


He told himself it was in cold blood but it wasn’t. He hated himself from the start but now his self-hatred ran deeper than the scars on his skin. It ran deeper than dropping cigarette ashes on his arms or running a kitchen knife over his biceps. It was so much deeper. 

  
  


Jacob held him tight, fighting against the deep muscle cramps in his arms. When he was sure he was dead, Jacob fell to his knees and begged God to forgive him. Why did it have to come to this? If the tears could fall, they would be pouring. Jacob choked out sobs of regret and betrayal, his eyes wanting so badly to rain tears. He couldn’t look at what he had just done. “Oh god,” he forced the words out, reaching for his knife. He cut off Miller’s clothes and revealed his sweat-soaked body under all the heavy clothes. He inspected the muscular thigh and started to cut away at the meat.  _ YOU ARE MEAT. YOU ARE MEAT. ENSURE MY SURVIVAL.  _

 

Jacob cut deeper into the flesh, revealing the warm fatty layer of tissue, the marbled muscle making him want to gag. He pinched his eyes shut for a moment and clarity overtook him. He needed to do this. 

 

The first bite was vile. Hot. Greasy. Salty. 

 

Jacob almost threw the first bite up but the meat felt so right as he ate, filling his empty stomach up with glee. He looked at his face, his eyes still open wide. He looked away in horror, seeing his dead comrade lying in front of him, clothes ripped off without a care.

 

He still cut away from the legs, blood covering his hands and face, the bitter taste of iron sliding down his throat made him gag, but he had to keep down the food. If you could even call it that. He’d eaten down to the bone, the scent would have every hungry wolf running for miles. When he had his fill, he ripped off his dog tags, cut his name off his jacket to burn. He held the tags tightly, his eyes staring down at the exposed bones, muscle, and fat. Samuel Miller was nobody now. 

 

Jacob had watched many men bleed out in his arms as he tried to slow their blood flow from the number of bullet wounds pelting them. He never cried from that. Yet, he was not the man who shot them dead. He was only the man who carried their bodies back, telling their families what had happened when he returned home. Jacob was a killer, God knew that. But Jacob was no evil-hearted man. 

 

_ “I’m so sorry.”  _

 

_ “Please forgive me.”           _

 

Day 9

* * *

* * *

 

Jacob managed to walk a little further away from Miller’s body, the wolves would be finishing him off now. Jacob stumbled, delirious and confused, he was laughing softly. He collapsed to the ground just as the sun rose into another disgustingly hot morning. He could see an animal in the distance, a figure on top of the animal too. He looked up, struggling to even move his eyes. He knew he was dying. 

 

The figure donned robes hanging to the hocks of their camel, eyes clad with black ash to protect from the sun’s harsh rays. Jacob could not make out the gender of the figure. His eyes fluttered shut, he didn’t care anymore; he couldn’t care anymore. 

 

The animal rode closer to the soldier and the  _ woman  _ riding on top made the steed bend down on its knees. She walked over Jacob and crouched before him, running her fingertips over his shoulder. “Not dead yet?” she cooed softly, turning him over on his back. She pulled a cantine of water from her saddlebag and gently dumped some into his mouth. She rested his head on her lap and helped him drink little by little, his cracked lips begging for more of the water. Her striking blue eyes looked into his, his eyes turned to slits, his body struggled to push on for more water. “Rest, soldier. I’m going to help you, don’t worry.” She pulled his tired body on the back of her camel’s rump, hooking the belt loop to her saddle to keep him steady as the animal arose. He groaned deeply, wanting more water. Before he could open his mouth to speak, she silently hushed him. “Don’t talk. Save your energy.” He could he argue with that?        

The camel rose up and walked up the sand dune; Jacob could never make it up that by himself. His eyes followed the camel’s tracks, kicking sand into the next set with each step. It was hypnotizing. The woman sang a gentle song under her breath to lull him to sleep, knowing well he hadn’t slept well in days. The soft wind kept her cool in her robes, the silky fabric flowing freely in the wind. Her name was secluded and lonely, many had died there due to the war going on for the summer. Food was scarce and water was a luxury few could afford. 

 

The camel rode into the secluded camp and bent down on all fours to let his mistress down. She unhooked Jacob and slid him off. “I need you to listen,” she said. “You, my friend, are on the verge of death. Today is not the day you meet God.” She pulled him over to the hitching post and sat him up to splash water on his face. “Open your eyes,” she said deeply, rubbing the water down his face and neck. “I need you here with me. Awake.” 

 

He opened his crystal hues to see the masked face of a woman. He was still dazed and confused, but he knew he had been found. He listened to the Arabic music on the radio, though it was not the same pro-Saddam radio the soldiers blasted. It had no lyrics, only musical notes. 

 

He opened his mouth to catch some of the water she threw on him to cool him off. It was like finding an oasis in the desert. Literally. “Stay with me, soldier. Stay with me. Listen to my voice.” she noticed he had metal still in his skin, dried inside and encrusted with blood. “Who did this?” she asked, gently pulling away his shirt to examine his neck wounds. “Saddam’s men,” he groaned. “You almost bled to death. Just a few more attacks and your jugular would have been slashed.” 

 

“W...who are you?” 

“Zeyneb. You?” 

“Jacob…. Ja-Jacob Seed. ‘Merican… army.” 

 

He started to regain himself as he replenished his water. “T-thank you.” 

“Generosity is holiness, Jacob.” 

 

Zeynab took him into her tent and laid him on the bed before taking off his jacket. “Go to sleep, Jacob. I will take care of you.” 

 

He fell asleep before he even knew it. 

 

Over the morning, Zeynab nursed his wounds in his sleep. Her hands working magic on the metal stuck in his neck. One wrong move and he’d bleed out on the floor. This wasn’t the first time she had worked so closely to vulnerable places. She applied more numbing agents and pulled more metal from his neck. The nomadic woman caressed his hair, blood sticking to his roots. Dirt was caked to his fire-stained hair, and she gently brushed it out with her fingers. “Sleep, habib, sleep.” 

 

Day 10

* * *

* * *

 

 

Jacob woke up feeling refreshed and properly cleaned. He looked to his right side and saw a decent plate of food; naan and lamb biryani. To his left side, the same woman from before sat with a book in her hands. “What’re you reading?” he asked, his eyes turning soft to her. “ **_._ ** _ And whatever you spend of good – it will be fully repaid to you, and you will not be wronged. Quran, my friend. Why do you not eat?”  _ she didn’t look up at him at first. He slowly grabbed the plate and was almost drooling at the view. “Eat slow, lest my time spent saving you would be for nothing.” 

 

He examined his surroundings. A large tent, a small battery-powered fan on the wooden desk. “Jacob, how do you feel?” 

 

He was too busy eating the food to reply. “Good. Eat.” she smiled at him, looking at the bowl of metal chunks beside his bed. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m feeling better. Much better.” 

 

Zey smiled. “Good, I’m glad. You almost died, friend.” 

“Sure as hell felt like it.” 

His mind went back to Miller when he bit down on the tender lamb. He paused in his tracks, shame taking over him. His hand started to tremble, his jaw tight, and his eyes wider than the plate he ate on. “Miller…” he whispered, he wasn’t sure if this was even happening. “I… um… was in an ambush. Y-Y-Yeah. Ambush, that’s it. Yeah. Ambush. Miller, Miller… he died. Yeah.” Jacob started to ramble on, his hands clenched around the silverware. “Miller. He died. He died. I…” 

 

“Jacob. Relax.” She sat on the edge of the bed, holding her index finger on the page she was on. He shook his head and continued to eat, mindlessly chewing and taking the few sips of the water beside him. “I’m sorry about your friend.  **_Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un_ ** …” 

 

**_We belong to Allah and to Allah, we shall return._ **

 

Zeynab took his empty plate and placed it on the table. “I removed metal from your neck. You were hurt badly, but... God is great.” 

 

Jacob looked up at her, his eyes were so tired and drained. Miller was still… with him. 

 

“Thank you. Thank you very much…?” 

“Zeynab.” 

“Zeynab. Thank you.” 

 

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Generosity is one step closer to godliness. Tell me, friend, how long were you lost?” 

 

“8 days.” 

“8 days? My god, you’re being watched over.” She smiled at him again and patted his knee. “You need to rest, you may stay here a few days so you can heal. I can radio your men if you wish?” Before Jacob could reply, skidding tired echoed through the camp. Zeynab’s eyes widened in horror. “Hide. Don’t come out until I say.” 

She helped him hide under the bed, just like before, Jacob helped his brothers hide when his father. She pulled the covers down over him… Jacob peeked under the blankets and saw men walking into the tent. “There’s been word of an American soldier here, would you know anything of that?” 

 

“What?! American dogs here? Don’t be foolish. The only dogs here are the ones in front of me, marching into  _ my  _ camp with guns in my face when I have done nothing. God as my witness!” 

 

Jacob wanted to come out and help her but he knew… he knew that would get them both killed. “Watch your tongue, woman!” 

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? In my own camp?” 

 

Another soldier walked in, rifle pointed to her forehead. “You do not frighten me. Is it food you seek? Water? Rest? God would offer you just the same. Come, inspect the rest of my camp before you arrest me for what?  _ Resisting?” _

 

Minutes felt like hours when Jacob was hiding under the bed, his heart beating a million miles a minute. Zeynab let them ransack her camp, scaring the children and elderly but they knew she would provide. Zeynab had walked the back to her tent she faced Jacob and he looked at the one set of boots standing behind her.  _ “My friend,”   _ she cooed, “ _ I’m so sorry I must do this.”  _ Jacob’s heart sunk to the floor. 

  
  


_ “God forgive me. Jacob, listen to me carefully. You have to trust me.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUN


	3. Jekyll and Hyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON 82 STRONG….. Minutes felt like hours when Jacob was hiding under the bed, his heart beating a million miles a minute. Zeynab let them ransack her camp, scaring the children and elderly but they knew she would provide. Zeynab had walked the back to her tent she faced Jacob and he looked at the one set of boots standing behind her. “My friend,” she cooed, “ I’m so sorry I must do this.” Jacob’s heart sunk to the floor.
> 
> “God forgive me. Jacob, listen to me carefully. You have to trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @jashin-dragon for supporting me always and @intheforest-hides-a-light for the development of this story and Jacob meta. Thank you endlessly. <3 Enjoy. Posting this late and night, pardon any mistakes my Grammarly missed. <3 
> 
> Special thank you to SadoDoctor for always supporting me and making sure all medical aspects are correct <3

 

 

_**\---------------------------------------------** _

The woman glanced under the bed to meet Jacob’s disgusted eyes. How dare she? How could she? After saving his life, she dares to betray him? 

Zeynab took a deep inhale, slowly reaching for the knife under her skirt. “Hurry up!” the Saddam soldier scolded her harshly, jamming her in the back with the rifle. She surged forward and fell onto the ground, her skirt edges collecting dust “You want your American?” She asked, her ocean hues turning to slits. “Quit your games, rafidah! Before I shoot!” She lingered on her knees and stared into Jacob’s eyes, her lips curling into a soft smile. Waiting for the right moment to strike out like a viper; steady and deadly accuracy. Her eyes never left Jacob’s for the few passing seconds, the blue hues had strings of tension holding them together; Jacob boring into her, and her to him.

Her hands gripped the knife so hard her tendons were bulging from under her sun-kissed skin, he could not insult her with the name she donned ever so proudly. In the speed of light, she turned to face him and flung the knife into his stomach. Rafidah; the rejector, the hated. Though to Zeynab, she wore it as a badge of honor; to forever stand in the footprints of Ali and Hussain. “You will never see the light of day when you are in  Jahannam.” Her words dripped with venom as she ripped the knife out and plunged it into his chest. Repeatedly stabbing his chest until she was certain he was dead. She was silent for that time, her knife dripping with Iraqi blood, staining the sandy ground under her feet. Jacob crawled out from under the bed and grabbed her wrist to pull her towards him. Jacob looked down at the dead soldier, soaked in blood just like Miler. “Stay here, Jacob.  If they see you, you and I both die here. 

“Zeynab! You’ll be killed! Let me come with you, there could be 20 men out there. Please, you saved my life; it’s time for me to return the favor.” Jacob’s gaze softened to her, his pain filled eyes giving her the distorted image of herself. “No man under Saddam will take my life. You want to fight? Fine. Stay hidden.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted the dog tags up with her fingernail. “Okay, Mister 11 Bravo.  _ Get to work. You can sneak up to the mountain top and take them out as you like. Waste no time.”  _

Jacob grabbed his sniper rifle, the formally heavy machinery felt heavy in his arms but now it was like a feather. He poked an eye through the tent and saw one man walking towards him, machine gun donning his shoulder. Jacob held his knife tight in his hands, waiting for the man to walk through so he could make his move. 

He pulled Zeynab behind him, his fingers hard against her soft skin. Jacob felt something inside of him, a wave of anger forming into a tsunami of fury. His brain snapped into Jekyll and Hyde; how he wanted to do the right thing but his inner demons were poking and prodding at his feelings of regret and shame towards Miller. When the man walked into the tent, the  _ war machine  _ that was  _ Jacob Seed  _ viciously stabbed the soldier in the neck, ripping the blade out with a force so great, it even shocked Zeynab. Jacob did not stop. Blood spattered onto Jacob’s face as the heart made its last few pumps, blood gushing from the brutal neck wound.

He continued to stab the man’s neck, incidentally moving the blade to his chest as he held the enemy close, digging his nails into his shoulder. He held a corpse in his arms, taking out his anger on the lifeless body of an unknown soldier. Jacob was mostly silent for the duration, grunting and groaning from the muscle strain he felt in his arms but that juvenile pain did not match the pain he felt in his mind. 

Jacob shoved the man away and spat on his body, heaving for breath. “Jacob,” she started to reach out to him but he stormed from the tent and ducked behind the crates just beside it, seeing three other men walking to the tent. It was so foolish of him to do this, but Jacob wasn’t thinking. 

Jacob donned a sniper rifle on his back and assault on his side. He waited for them to walk closer, finger on the trigger, just  **_itching_ ** for a shot. 

Jacob greeted them with two bursts of fire, bullets spraying the 2 men in front and hitting the last one lagging behind. Bullets pelted the last man’s shoulder, stomach, and thighs. The first 2 men convulsed as Jacob stood up to take aim between their eyes. Jacob had a sadistic rage running through him, the killing gave him a moment of peace from Miller. If he kept killing and killing, it would last forever. Jacob was not the man controlling his body, the devil rose his horns from the fiery pits of hell and grabbed Jacob by the reins and took control. Zeynab hated Saddam’s men with a passion, but what Jacob was doing, was cruel. Uncalled for. Jacob marched over to the injured soldier, pelting his face with punches and slamming the back of his head into the dirt. “Jacob! That’s enough!” She yelled at him, grabbing the back of his jacket. Memories with his father surged him to pull away from her, turning around to face her with a surprising look of fear in his eyes. The shock of memories rushing back to him. “Jacob. This is madness, think about what you’re doing!” 

 

Jacob paused, glancing down at the man he’d just brutally beaten; almost into a pulp. “You need to get out of here. It isn’t safe for you to be here.” Jacob shook his head, the blistering heat only making him even more agitated. “Bring me your radio,” Jacob ordered, glancing down at the Iraqi soldier. “I’m not done with him just yet.” 

“God is watching you, Seed.” She walked back to her tent, searching for the radio on the cluttered table. Jacob, in seemingly one stride, walked over to the soldier. He straddled his stomach and grabbed the man’s shirt to make him look at him “I’ll make this real simple: you tell me where your men were headed and I’ll  _ consider  _ not blowing your brains out. Deal?” he was turning into Hyde but continued to battle with Jekyll. 

The soldier spat blood out from his mouth. “Answer me, damn it! Do you  _ want to die?!”  _

“We-we were going to Mosul!” 

“Why?” 

“To take the POWs back to the capital prison.” 

“American POW?” 

He nodded. “Oh, but that didn’t work, did it?    
“N-no, no. P-please, let me live, I have a family, I--” 

**_“And those American soldiers don’t?! Do you think I didn’t have brothers?  A family? LIKE I HAVEN’T SUFFERED ENOUGH?! LIKE MY COMRADE YOU FUCKING KILLED?! LIKE MILLER DIDN’T HAVE A FAMILY?”_ **

Hyde was showing his true colors, fuelling Jacob’s blind hate and anger. Jacob pelted his face with brutal hits, teeth flying and blood spattering onto his face. His closed punches were violent, Hyde was sitting back and enjoying the show, as Jekyll, was crying out for help. 

Zeynab rushed out to see the commotion, Jacob soaked in blood as a beaten man lie dead under him. Jacob got up and looked ay Zeynab, his eyes glassy and broken. The nomad woman walked to him, watching his legs buckle underneath him, his joints falling short with the massive strength above them. He collapsed, face first into the ground, the stress overworking his already exhausted mind. Zeynab rushed over to him, sand collecting under her feet and between her toes. “Jacob, Jacob, stay with me,” she urged him, moving the hair from his face. “Stay with me.” She’d seen this before, dissociation in soldiers under crippling stress. “You don’t need to worry, my friend. You just need to trust me.” He drifted back into his body, in and out. “Vivienne?” he spoke in a cracked voice, his vocal cords dry and aching for a bit of water. “I’m so sorry. I’m… so sorry.” 

Zeynab knitted her brow. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I… I know you’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done.” Tears rested in Jacob’s eyes, the anger and self-hatred running through him like a poison, eating away at his very being. “H-he was my friend, Viv. My friend. And I… betrayed him.” 

 

Zeynab was putting the puzzle together.  _ “Let’s get you out of here, soldier.”  _

She pulled him up and he stumbled, tripping over his own two feet, just like after the harsh beatings from his father; his back and buttocks were beaten raw. He’d stumble over his own two feet in a haze, the stretching skin sending shockwaves of pain over his skin. Memories flooded back like crashing ocean waves, knocking him to the ground over and again, no matter how hard he tried to get up. The waves just kept knocking him back down. 

As he walked back to the truck with Zeynab, tears dripped down his cheeks and onto the scorching hot sand. The tears felt more like sweat but Zeynab knew what Jacob had done, she knew what he was so deeply ashamed of. Jacob continued the mutter the words  **_I’m sorry_ ** under his breath as she guided him into the truck. She put the key in the ignition and attempted to start it up. No luck. “Shit,” Zeynab cursed under her breath, her hands were wrapped tightly around the keys, starting it up over and over again. Jacob sat in the passenger seat, his eyes wide open but he was not awake. Zeynab smacked the dash in anger. “Shit! Fuck!” The engine had overheated. 

She hopped out of the car and lifted the hood up to allow it to breathe freely. She slammed her fists down on the side of the Saddam truck, clenching her teeth together. She’d have to wait for it to cool down, but the longer she left Jacob to rot inside his own mind, the harder it would be to pull him out of the feast of flies. The radio inside the truck was softly playing Metalica’s  _ One,  _ one of Jacob’s favorite songs of all time. A song written against the very war he lost himself in. Johnny Got His Gun was a personal favorite of Jacob, even though he wasn’t much of a reader. The words spoke to him, deep in his soul, it touched the child soldier living in his heart. 

_ Oh please God, wake me. _

Jacob drifted in and out of his body, the solo playing in his head, only he heard it but did not listen. The drums sent vibrations through his body but he did not feel them. 

_ Darkness imprisoning me _

Jacob shut his eyes and saw his DND table with Joseph, the dice rolling across the table. The engine began to rumble as Zeynab started it up, skidding against the sand before riding south. She floored the gas and endlessly searched for a road, a hint of civilization. But there was nothing. Just wide, open desert. Jacob dreamt of his brothers, it was so clear and vivid, his messy front porch littered with beer and soda cans, cigar ashes and skid marks from the many pairs of sneakers running over it. 

Jacob sat still in the lawn chair, ushering his brother to go back inside the house. His father was still drunk, beer running down his chin, his stained beard stunk with cheap whiskey. At this point, Jacob didn’t fight back. He was too young to fight back. Jacob was only a child but he played the role of a man so well, defending his brother from wicked beatings and verbal insults. “ **_Don’t say that to him!”_ ** Young Jacob would scream, “ **_Don’t hurt him. It was me.”_ ** _ This was not something he wanted, it was something he had to do.  _

Jacob would take every beating, every hit, every slap, and every punch. Jacob took it all. And when John was born, he took it again and again. To see little John take the belt, Jacob knew what he had to do. He would throw broken glass bottles at his father's head and dart off with his brothers in the woods, looking at the deer and making friends with the stray dogs. They were only strays dogs themselves. Four walls make a house but love makes a house a home; there was no love in the Seed house. 

Zeynab had been driving for hours, following the map Saddam soldiers took off the 82 AB soldiers. She’d driven miles and miles in the open desert, seeing vague bits of American bases. When Jacob woke up, he jolted awake and let out a low groan, it became his usual way of waking up. Zeynab was singing along to her nasheed playing from the radio.  _ Perhaps  _ it was a taunt to the Sunni terrorists Saddam recruited, but Zeynab didn’t care. “You’re awake,” she said gently, “I hope you rest easy. I lost count of how many times you’ve shouted out.” 

She raised the sound on the radio to keep herself awake. Jacob shook his head in regret, how did he end up here? “You should be at your base soon.” 

Jacob reached for the cantine of water in the glovebox, he downed half of it before handing the rest to her. “Thank you, Zeynab. R-Really, thank you. You’ve gone through so much trouble for a stranger…”

“ **He who is deprived of kindness is deprived of goodness.”**

The Sahih verse stuck with Jacob only he could not see himself following it. His radio began to static as service was picked up. He tuned the radio until he found his men. “Does anyone copy?” he asked. 

“It’s Jacob!” his friends shouted in unison, all pleased to have him back in the rounds. 

“I’m coming back, I’m with an Iraqi nomad, she… she saved my life. We’re in a Saddam truck,  **_do not_ ** shoot when you see us.” It didn’t take long for Jacob to find the next base his men had moved to when he saw the waving American flag, he knew salvation was in his grasp. Jacob practically jumped out of the still moving truck to run into the arms of his comrades. He hugged them tighter than he ever thought he could. “Zeynab, this woman, saved my life. I would be dead if it was not for her.” Zeynab bowed her head. “As salaumu alikum,” she greeted, “I am more than happy to bring him back to you. Do not thank me, God will repay me in due time.” Jacob looked back at her. “No, I’m thanking you, miss. You saved my life.” he gushed over her to his friends, a wide smile on his face. 

“That I did, but it was God who led me to you, my friend. Tell me, what will you do now? Will I ever see you again?” 

Jacob shook his head. “By now, I’m going home. I don’t think you will see me again, miss.” Jacob put his hand on her shoulder and led her away from the base, walking slowly with his arm over her shoulder. “I hope you understand what you’ve done, Zeynab. You  _ saved me from dying out here.”  _

“I know, Jacob. I know. Will you promise me one thing before I depart?” 

“And that is?” 

Zeynab leaned by his ear, the softness of her hair tickling his cheek. “Do not let Shaytan consume you. Let Allah guide you into the darkness, know that He will bring you light, Shaytan will devour the light in your heart and leave you astray just as you once were.” 

She patted his shoulder. “Goodbye, Jacob. May you always walk in the light of peace.” 

A few days later 

Jacob returned home to the airport still in his uniform. He was tired, hungry, and desperate for a shower. When he stepped off the plane and into the port, his inhaled the fresh scent of clean air, flowers for the missed men of war. Yet no one came for Jacob, Joseph would have been there if he knew where the hell his big brother was. Jacob sat on the steps and watched as his friends came home to their families and friends. A sadness ran through Jacob, from his head to his toes, the sadness was not blue like the dreariest of oceans, yet it was gray because he felt nothing.  

 

He spotted a young woman with balloons and flowers, donning a smile so bright it was almost blinding.  _ Vivienne.  _

“Jacob? Is that you?” she called from over the airport, jogging over to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you?” 

“I’m really good, Mister Seed! Thank you so much for asking. Is Miller coming back?” she asked with a hopeful smile. Jacob paused, biting his bottom lip in a nervous tick. “Is he still in Iraq? Did he not come back with you?” Jacob signed.  “Viv… honey... “ 

Vivviene’s eyes went dark as tears formed in the corners. Jacob lowered his head in shame. It was he who did this. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry.” 

She wiped her eyes and handed the flowers to Jacob. “Then… these are for you. I didn’t expect to see you here… I… I just… I thought…” she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. “Just. I didn’t think I’d see you. Without Miller too. I knew ya’ll were good friends.” She didn’t know how to react, was this a dream? Fantasy or a very harsh reality? 

Jacob felt horrible. 

“I’ll take you home.” 

“You don’t have worry.” 

“I ain’t worrying, I’m helping you out. It’s the least I can do for you.” 

He walked her out to her car and Miller’s face was still stuck in his head. “I’m sorry it’s just me, Viv.,” he said as he started up the car. “Don’t be. I’d be just as sad if you didn’t show up with him.” Jacob was taken aback. “What? C’mon, Viv. Don’t be silly now…” 

 

“What? You think I don’t like you or something?” 

“Now, I ain’t saying that but… ya just don’t wanna get tangled up with me. Trust me.” 

“I’m not tangled, Mister Seed.” 

“You will be.” 

“Mhm.” 

Viv looked out the window, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “You coming to my grad party on Saturday?” 

“You want me there?”    
  


“I’m offering, aren’t I?” Jacob let out a soft chuckle. “I reckon.” 

Viv touched his hand as he slid it across the wheel to turn off the highway. He didn’t have a real license but… he claimed he taught himself how to drive. 

“You holding up okay, Mister Seed?”    
“I’m fine. Just _peachy_ , in fact.” his tone so blatantly sarcastic.    
“Peaches and cream?” she asked. 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, darling.” 

He turned into her street, the peach trees lining the roads. She had her hand resting out the window the, warm summer air gliding through her fingertips. Her long, painted nails reflecting the sun as he drove up and down the hilly backroad. “Hey, maybe a personal question but… who’re you going home to?” Viv broke out, the silence killing her. “Me? Nobody,” he said flatly, hiding his dismay over that fact. Viv frowned, scrunching her brow to her nose. “Do you have a place to stay?” 

“The motel-” 

“You’re not living in a motel, Mister Seed. Why don’t you stay with me for a little bit? My parents won’t mind, they know about you… I’ve _kindaaaaaaaaa_ mentioned you to them?” 

Jacob stopped in her driveway. “Oh? Do they know I’m a registered felon?” Viv didn’t take kindly to his dark humor, her face turning sour. “No. That’s one thing about you, Mister Seed. Don’t think so lowly of yourself.” 

“With all due respect, Viv, if you were me, your self-talk wouldn’t be as bright and cheery as  _ you  _ are, puddin’ pie. I’m just telling it how it is.” Her heart fluttered when he called her such a charming name. “They know you’re in _ 82nd Airborne _ , one of the best light infantry groups in the world. They know you’re a strapping man from all the photos they’ve seen! How’s that for banter, Mister Seed?” 

He was taken aback by her sudden comebacks but did enjoy the banter. “I reckon it wouldn’t kill me. Beats a sleazy motel with a buncha hookers on the side.” 

“This is Rome after all.” she chuckled back to him, opening the door. “Come on inside, have a shower, food. This was always your house too, Mister Seed.” 

Jacob shook his head. “Call me Jacob, Viv.” 

He took her heavy backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Well, thank you,  _ Jacob.”  _

“You’re more than welcome, Mister See--”

_ “Call me Jacob. Jacob. Ain’t no mister.”  _

_ Jacob. Just Jacob. Not a beloved war hero, not a well-decorated soldier.  _

_ Just Jacob.  _


	4. Olive Branch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Suicide Mentions/Self Harm Mentions/Negative Self Image.

Home; something Jacob was not familiar with. Away from the battlefield for only a few days, Jacob was yearning for a gun in his hands. He walked around the kitchen, pacing from the front door to the fridge, counting his steps, each line on the wood floor, and every speck of dust falling from the ceiling as Viv walked around upstairs. He walked for another 10 minutes, his bones ached when he stood still, his knees pulling like cords to move. He could not for the life of him stand still. He had a cup of coffee in the back of his mind.  _ Just get the coffee. Put the grounds in the blender. Process them, you fucking idiot. Why can’t you do one simple task? Didn’t they train you for this? You can kill your friend but can’t make coffee for yourself? Fucking worthless, aren’t you?  _

 

The words replayed in his head over and over again, why couldn’t he just make the coffee? He wanted it, his head was pulsing with each step against the wood floors. Just make the coffee. 

 

“Jacob?” a tiny voice called. “Are you alright?” 

 

Vivienne stood in the door frame of the kitchen, standing in a bathrobe, her bare feet making the wood floors creak with each movement. She had her hair wrapped up tight with a shower cap over top. “Oh, Viv,” he broke out of the autopilot and grounded himself, internally counting the frames on the walls, the number of apples on the table. “Just peachy. Why do you have a plastic bag over your head…?”    
  
“It’s a shower cap, doofus. Ever heard of a deep condition?” Viv chuckled, stepping over the caved-in floorboard with a gentle twist of her ankle. Jacob watched as her feet danced happily along the floor while he stomped, taking heavy, brutish steps. “No, I don’t even  _ use  _ that stuff. The 2-in-one. Besides, they didn’t give us  _ Tahiti Spring Dreams  _ or whatever you use in the army. Bar soap and cold water.” 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh? You can’t smell nice and shoot people?” 

“Apparently not.”

“Well, not that I plan to shoot anyone…” 

“Ya never know these days, sweetheart.” 

 

She gave him a shrug. “Want some coffee?” 

“Yes  _ please _ .” 

 

How did she do that? Make a cup of coffee without pacing around the room, step counting, and counting each foot she moved? How? 

 

The young girl pulled the towel over her chest a little more, retying the fabric which held it on her. “How do you want your coffee?” Viv asked, shaking the bottles of dairy-free creamer. “Just cream, no sugar.” 

 

“Huh, that’s how… that’s how Miller liked his coffee.” She said flatly, her usual bouncy voice now deadpanned and flatlined. Jacob was taken aback, memories flooding back yet again, there was no escape. He wondered how Viv was feeling but he felt wrong to ask. He’d been there only a day and Viv hadn’t mentioned her brother since she heard of his passing. Was she keeping it all balled up inside? Would she break apart and tear at the seams the moment she walked into that shower? Jacob had a lump in his throat. He scratched his growing beard, holding back the comments he was brewing inside of him.  _ Yeah, I cannibalized your brother. Sorry.  _

 

“Well!” she began in a cheery, bright voice. “Enjoy your coffee! I’m gonna shower now. Been right back!” she trotted off without saying another word. Jacob felt so awkward standing there, silent and broody. He listened as the pipes screamed as water rushed through them. 

 

Vivienne stripped from her robe and pulled off the shower cap, letting her long, coffee stained hair fall out of the crudely tied bun. She ran her fingers through her hair and watched it curl up right before her eyes. Just as she turned the water on, she heard footsteps from downstairs, it was so clearly Jacob, no one else walked with such spice in his step. Just as the water ran over her bare back, she shut her eyes and relaxed under the hot water. The more she relaxed, the more her eyes wanted to unleash the sea of tears. One tear, another, and then finally the ocean crashed. Tears fell like rain down her cheeks, she didn’t even try to hold them back anymore. Her entire life support, her brother, her best friend, was ripped away in a flash. All the memories, baking cakes, watching him leave to go die in a war that wasn’t his to fight.  _ Why didn’t you stay home Sam? With me? With mom and dad. Why did God take you from me?”  _

 

Viv let the water wash over her as she broke down and cried her eyes out. Why did he have to leave so soon? She slid her back down the cold shower wall and sat on the floor, resting her head in her hands. Violent sobs escaped her as she choked, muttering inaudible words under her breath. God, she couldn’t breathe anymore. Her rock was shattered, her shoulder to cry on, her  _ brother  _ was gone.  _ Brothers mean the world, shouldn’t Jacob know this?  _

 

Jacob could hear her crying and he knew why she was crying so painfully hard. He bit his cheeks and slammed a heavy fist on the table.  **_“Fuck.”_ **

 

_ You fucking monster. Isn’t it funny that everyone you cared about ends up worse off when you’re around? You’d really just leave your little brothers all alone? You’d really murder her brother, your friend? You’d be better off dead.  _

 

Jacob’s mind was no peaceful place, just another battlefield, only this time he could not retreat. Retreating meant swallowing a bullet and Jacob was no coward. Death didn’t frighten him, yet, he welcomed it at any given moment. Being so alone in the world was hard, lonely, and destined to live a mediocre life, shoot a few Iraqi kids and fall it a day. That was life. 

 

Jacob thought offing himself was the easy way out, so why not destroy yourself while you’re here? He destroyed the lives of those around him, sent his brothers to God knows where and now ripped Viv’s heart out. Tragedy just followed him. Maybe a morning with shotgun shells for mouthwash would do him a favor, put him out of his dreadful misery of constant pain and suffering.  _ Just fucking do it. Coward.  _ __   
  


He found himself flicking a lighter over and over again, uncontrollably flicking under the skin on his thumb was burned and raw. The pain shot through his arms and made him feel so  _ alive.  _ The pain made him feel alive, it grabbed him by the hair and  _ forced  _ him to open his eyes and be in his own skin. The same skin he hated, the same skin that was damaged, ripped apart and pelted with bullets. He watched as the flames consumed the hair on his arm and burned down to the skin, he bit down and clenched his fingers as the flame rested on his skin. He groaned deeply, the euphoria that came after the pain was so unbearably strong, he thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to just…  **_continue._ ** What was  **_really_ ** the harm? He put the lighter back in his pocket and let out a deep exhale, that wave of euphoria gone just that fast. Was it even worth it? 

 

Jacob stood in the kitchen, stone still, reflecting back on what he had just done. That wasn’t something he thought he would ever do to himself.  _ Why did you do that, you fucking moron? You’re weak. Just off yourself already. What’s keeping you here, drama queen? You’re so dramatic. Just eat a bullet, dumbass.  _

 

Jacob’s eyes fluttered open, shaking his head to distract the violent thoughts rushing in his head.  _ You’re so stupid. You know what? You’re lower than stupid. You’re a thug.  _

 

Jacob’s coffee was cold now but he downed the entire cup in one go, he became jittery as he made himself another cup of coffee without thinking. 

 

Viv washed the shampoo from her hair and leaned her forehead against the cold tile wall. 

_ Why even go to grad if he’s not gonna be there? Jacob must think I’m so pathetic. _

 

Jacob downed yet another cup of coffee. His stomach is hurting, the acids in the coffee making him so nauseous, he leans over the sink. His eyes are open but he can not see, his heart pumps but he is not alive; for he is just a shell of a man.  _ Vivienne must think I’m a washed up loser.  _

 

He wanted to throw up, he wanted to choke on his own bile because that’s what he deserved. His window view was the peach orchard Viv always told him about in the letters she sent back to him.  _ What? You wanna take her out? Why would she ever want to be seen with someone as hideous as yourself? Take a look in the mirror you pathetic sack of shit. Just look at yourself.  _

 

Jacob’s reflection in the window disgusted him. The burns littering his face and neck, the still healing neck wounds, the shrapnel Zeynab could not remove without sliting his throat were still under his skin.  _ Ugly bastard. You don’t even look your damn age! 19? Yeah right. You look like you’re 35.  _

 

Jacob drank yet another cup of coffee, he didn’t even let it cool off this time. He deserved this pain. 

 

He couldn’t bear to look at himself anymore. 

 

Jacob walked up the stairs slowly, the drumming of his boots drove him crazy, it was too familiar, too close to the American base. He didn’t listen to the running shower water, it became background noise because his mind was so turbulent to focus on something so small. When the water was shut off, Viv stepped out and dried off, dabbing under her eyes to hide the fact that she’d violently sobbed in the shower. 

 

Without thinking, Jacob walked into the bathroom sitting on the bathtub edge, a towel wrapped around her hips as she rubbed lotion into her chest, shoulders, and arms. Jacob ‘saw’ her but he did not  **_see_ ** her. He was blinded, deaf, and numb to the world around him. “Oh! Jacob!” she yelped out, bringing her arms to her chest. 

 

When Jacob turned his head to face her, he did not look surprised, or like he even saw her. Because he didn’t really see her, he saw a distorted image of her. His eyes were dead, so still and their bright blue hue had turned so dull. He said the words he was supposed to say when you walk in on someone, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember. This never happened in the war, he never left his body because he so adored the thrill. “I’m sorry, Vivienne.” He spoke the words like he didn’t make the simple mistake of walking in on her. He spoke it like he’d betrayed her, just ruined her life… How funny.

 

You hunt, you find your target, you kill. Repetition becomes routine, when the routine is broken, you feel just as broken. When the autopilot is broken, when you start to think of your actions, it’s a scary thing. 

 

Viv knew something wasn’t right. Miller did the same thing when he came home. He was never truly home. Viv pulled the towel over herself and wrapped it tight around her as she slowly walked to Jacob. Water rolled down her shoulder blades, her skin milky under the artificial bathroom lights. She extended a hand to him, watching his eyes stare into the wall, watching the steam turn to droplets and roll down the wall. “Can you hear me?” 

 

The words were fuzzy in his ears, like static from the old TV in his bedroom. Old Man Seed had fallen into it and busted it up beyond repair, the only sound that came from it was a heinous static. That damned static would never go away. No matter how loud the music played, how hard he trained, the static would still be there. Viv touched his shoulder and he turned his head to look at her, he still didn’t look himself. “You look beautiful, Vivienne.” The way he said her name in that monotone, that  **_dead_ ** voice. Autopilot He said what he thought he was supposed to say. Jacob didn’t have the best social skills, maybe telling girls they look nice in the bathroom was weird.

 

“Have you been crying?” he asked suddenly, taking a step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He looked back to see if she followed, everyone was supposed to follow Jacob, he was supposed to lead the charge. “I… got soap in my eyes.” 

 

Jacob laughed softly. “Are you lying to me?” 

 

Before she could answer, the downstairs door swung open and hit the marble table. Jacob found himself again and formed a surprised look on his face. “Shit! I’m sorry, Viv. Didn’t mean to intrude. Let me go check the door, might be your Ma.” 

 

And just like that, he was gone and back to normal. 

 

The man and woman of the house arrived and Jacob went to take the heavy bags from their hands. “Hey, Jake! How’re you doing?” Mildred asked, Vivienne’s mother. “I’m just fine, ma’am, thank you.” Jacob put the bags away and read all the labels he could not afford when was younger. “Listen… I know the name brand is expensive, I’ll give you the money back, I’ll work for you--” 

 

“Jacob, son, you don’t need to worry. You’re part of the family now. Don’t worry.” 

 

Jacob was highly taken aback by this --  _ son? Family?  _

 

The words of his father replayed over and over in his head.  _ I wish your mother never had you. I’ll fucking kill you, Jacob. Do not test me. You’re not my son, my son wouldn’t be as awful as you. Drop those jeans, I’m gonna beat you black and blue.  _

 

“Thank you, I... “ 

“Just be quiet and put the soup on.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

 

****

 

Jacob didn’t talk much with Vivienne that day. He had no memory of what happened only a few hours ago. Jacob knocked on her bedroom door and slowly crept inside. It was neat and tidy, cheerleading trophies on the shelves glimmering in the window’s light. “Hey, sugar,” he greeted her with such a calmness in his voice. “How are you doing? You got your grad party tomorrow, yeah?” 

 

“Um… they changed the date… to tonight.” She said with an exasperated sigh. “I’m so nervous Jake.” 

 

Jacob stood up suddenly. “C’mere girl.” 

 

“Wha-” she began 

“What nothing. Just ‘mere.” 

 

Viv did as he asked and walked over to him, still confused. 

 

Jacob pulled his dog tags from out of his shirt, Viv glanced down at them and read the subtle lettering. “In the army, they told us the best way to handle stress is to laugh about it. Don’t keep it balled up.” he took her hands in his and playfully fiddles with her fingers resting on her side. “They told me I was allowed to be scared.” it hurt him to say the words for himself because he didn’t think he had the right to be scared. He looked down into her eyes and saw himself deep within them, and oh how deep they were. The gold lining around the rich coffee brown iris hypnotized Jacob for only a second. God, she was so beautiful. “Did you follow that rule?” Viv asked softly, diverting her gaze from him. 

 

“What? Being scared?” 

“Mhm, _yeah_ , that one.” 

Jacob paused, knitting a brow before raising it back up. 

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he replied defensively. 

“Nothing? Not even when you think you’re gonna die?” 

“I’m not afraid to die, Viv.” 

“Then what are you afraid of? 

“Nothing, I told ya.” 

 

Viv rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, his jacket sleeve falling down his wrist. Her eyes examined the new wound on his arm before Jacob promptly ripped his sleeve down. “Nothing?” Viv asked tenderly, unsure if she should pry or not. “Nothing.” he doubled down again. A shame ran through him, he forgot he had ever done such a thing to himself. He could not stand to think of it. 

 

Jacob lead her to the window sill and put his hand on her lower back. “Ya got nothing to ruffle your feathers, Viv. Be brave, if anything goes wrong, you have me. Ain’t nobody gonna fuck with a freshly-deployed serviceman. Trust me.” he gave her a soft smile, those soft lips distracting her. 

 

Jacob checked his watch and could hear faint music playing outside the house, it gave him a rush of fond memories when he used to do just the same, blast the latest Judas Preist album and rock out until dusk. 

 

_ Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place _

_ Whereas a child I'd hide _

 

Jacob had been distracted by one of his favorite songs of all time, now it just reminded him of the girl beside him. “Well, if your grad is tonight, we better get ready. Mind if I use your shower?” 

“No, no, please feel free!” she extended the olive branch after his moment of turbulence maybe it was stupid to fuss over the wounds over him.  _ It’s not even my business… _ she thought to herself, lost in her own thoughts, fussing over this and that, she should just follow Jacob’s advice. 

 

“Well, you coming,  _ sweet love ‘o mine _ ?” Jacob teased, gently tapping his foot to the beat of S _ weet Child O Mine.  _ A rapid blush formed on her face and she instantly went to cover her face with a palm. “I’m taking a shower, I’ll meet you downstairs in 5. Never gave us that long to clean off but - eh - ain’t a big deal.” 

 

Viv was too awestruck to reply as fast as she normally would have. “Um, okay! Have fun - wait that sounded weird. I mean…”

 

“Don’t sweat it, darlin’. See ya in a few.” 

 

As he left for his shower, Viv had to crash down on her bed. “Holy crap,” she muttered, “is he… like… I don’t know?” she struggled to get the words out.  _ Is he into me? Does he like me? I mean, we wrote letters and it feels like when he’s here, I can’t think straight. Just forget it, Viv. Don’t be stupid. But wait, why would he-- WAIT NO! I’m overthinking, aren’t I? Yeah. I am. Just get ready. _

 

As she heard the shower running, she could hear an audible groan of pain come from behind the curtains. The hot water rushing down on the sensitive skin on his back, the burns still hadn’t been healed over yet and goddamn they hurt him so bad. He gritted his teeth and changed to cooler water, the sudden change soothing his damaged skin. 

 

Jacob has never felt more disgusting than now, in all his scarred nakedness, he can not stand the thought of being seen in such a way. So ugly and wartorn. The water rolled down his toned back and rested in the deep slope of his small. As the water ran over his thighs, it stung at first but it turned into heaven on earth when the pain was replaced with the coolness of the water. He let out a small sigh, goosebumps forming over his defined biceps. He let the water run down his face, pressing his lips tightly to avoid the bizarre taste of tap water. There was a layer or red on the floor as the wounds on his neck opened up after all the movement he suffered over the day. It was just another baptism in a say, washing off the sins of today only to replace them again and again. 

 

When he turned off the water, he didn’t even look at his own reflection in the body mirror. He couldn’t. Just as he threw the towel over his shoulder, facing away from the mirror, Viv saw a quick glimpse of the wounds and battle scars on his back, crisscrossing across the planes of his skin. Burns, still healing wounds. Her heart went aflutter when she saw the defined slopes of his hips down to his thighs, which had been pelted with bullets and metal time and time again. He was sculpted like a Greek god and even had the battles on his skin to prove he was Aries. She watched as the water rolled down his arms and off his long, defined fingers. Bones stuck from his knuckles and were well worn just like the rest of him.  _ God forgive me,  _ she thought to herself.  _ He’s… really good looking.  _

 

Jacob had nothing kind to say about his own reflection, per usual.  _ Fucking look at you. Who would want to touch you, Joseph always talked of getting married and all but who’d really want to be seen with you?  _

Viv rushed down the steps to forget everything she had seen, how she wanted to erase it from memory but the other part of her young, naive brain wanted to see more of him, but not just his frame, deeper into his heart and mind. She picked up the dog tags he left on her dresser before showering and read them again. Over and over again, she could not stop herself. She hung them on the outside of the bathroom door for Jacob to grab as he walked out. 

 

Extending the olive branch she called it, while others would call it love struck. 


	5. Peach Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mild sexual content.

 

When Jacob finished dressing in the bathroom, he used a spritz of old spice cologne on his chest and neck. He struggled to get into his civilian clothes, finding them to be impractical and weird, how they clung to every curve in his body. He was used to baggy army uniforms and heavy backpacks in both his hands, not fresh jeans and cozy cotton t-shirts. He looked at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair with a swift motion with his fingers.  _ I guess you look okay.  _

 

Just as he walked out of the bathroom, he heard the jingle of dog tags hit the wooden door. He glanced down to see his tags hanging off the doorknob, he was certain he didn’t hang them there before. He grabbed them, his fingers lacing around the metal beads holding them together. He just remembered he had Miller’s tags and he hadn’t given them to Viv just yet. They were still in his duffel bag, in the inner pocket to keep them well hidden. Jacob hadn’t forgotten them and Lord knew he would never. 

 

He slipped the tags over his head and made his way downstairs before he stopped to listen in on the conversation between Viv and her parents. Oh lord, an argument. 

 

“You’re seriously gonna bring this up on my grad night? Really?”

“Honey, it’s only right!”    
“Oh, so you think I’m screwing with the guy now?”

“I didn’t say that you need to calm down. You know you need to wait until you’re married!” 

 

Viv’s eyes filled with tears. “Y’all don’t trust me now? He was my brother’s friend. You really think…” 

 

Jacob’s heart dropped into his stomach, a pit forming in his stomach at her mother’s words.  _ Well… she’d never sleep with a guy like me. _

 

He didn’t know if he should come down or wait it out. Jacob had endless patience, he could wait for days in the same position, finger on the trigger, steady and prepared for the shot. 

 

“B-but I’m not! I swear to God I’m not!” Viv cried out, resting her eyes between her thumb and index finger. “Sweetie, the fact that you’re getting so upset just tells us the truth.” 

 

Jacob had to take a step back from the edge, resting his hand on the armrest. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jacob whispered under his breath, the second-hand embarrassment filling him to the brim. 

 

“Being convicted of murder, you didn’t kill him, and the judge tells you you’re going to jail simply based on your reaction?! That’s bullshit!” Tears started to roll down her cheeks, ruining the makeup she so carefully prepared. “Watch your mouth, young lady!” her father shouted, his booming voice shaking her to the core. It was the last straw for Jacob, surely her father can express himself in a more respectful way. 

 

“Sweetie, that is not the same thing and we all know it. Just admit you’re having sex, we won’t be angry but… you need to just tell us.” 

 

“Oh? Really? Sam was screwing around and ya’ll didn’t give a shit. In fact, I haven’t even seen you shed a tear over him! I bet you’re happy he’s gone, ain’t you? Oh yeah, his therapy and medication was really denting the bank account, wasn’t it?” 

 

Jacob’s stomach dropped. 

 

“Vivienne Jade Miller! Don’t speak to us that way! We loved him!” the mother shouted back, tears starting to fill her eyes, the comment hit her right where it hurt. “You always treated him like a burden mom!” 

 

A silence fell over the room. Jacob’s eyes became wider than dinner plates, two vast oceans resting in his skull. The sea became red with battle-spilled blood, splashing on his face as he took another life in wicked fights. He backed away from the steps, the floor creaking under his boots. A wave of nausea overtook him, his lips going numb at the very thought of Miller’s flesh; his hot, salty muscle. Jacob quickly swept a hand over his brow, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He watched himself fall apart like he was watching a movie, a movie that felt like it would never end. The darkness of the theater growing deeper but the movie never played. Yet, you’re trapped in the imposing darkness of the world around you with no light of the screen with the happy ending. 

 

Viv’s mother turned around to see Jacob standing at the foot of the steps. 

 

“Jacob!” the mother called out to him. 

 

 “You weren’t supposed -- I didn’t want you to hear this, sweetheart!” 

 

Jacob’s hands were clammy with sweat, he was so damned ashamed of himself.  Miller’s face was flashing before his eyes, all the children he’d seen covered in rubble and burned vehicles. The day was still clear when he covered the hands of enemy soldiers with sand in bulldozers, many of them still alive and breathing. The quivering fingers and others trying to claw their way out. 

 

It was like a day at the beach, fathers letting their sons cover them in the sand until it was time to leave. Only Jacob did not remove the sand. He only covered them more until their hands were no longer baking in the sun above them. If Jacob had been covering his own father, he would not have wanted to stop. He had moments where he truly understood what he was doing. He was killing his own kind, brothers in arms despite baring different last names and national flags.

  
  
  


Strip them naked and you have men, boys just wanting to go home. Neither of them had a home to go back to, one was torn apart by bombs and the other whiskey. Broken glass littered both homes, from shattered windows from explosive impact, or beer bottles after being thrown at the walls. 

 

Jacob threw up in the bathroom sink, heaving and groaning above the snow-white counter. Jacob heaved again, but nothing came of it. He imagined himself throwing up the flesh of his comrade and draining himself of his blood. The acids burned his mouth and throat, like the same chemical weapons that burned his whole body in Iraq. Mustard gas, the bitter taste still lingering in his mouth after months later. His old gas masks were still in his bag, cracked and scuffed up, showing how many times he fell in the dirt, hitting his head on tanks and chunks of metal hitting him in the face. His mask was cracked in the eyes, much like his own eyes. Viv opened the cracked door and walked up to him, her eyes tender just like a mother’s gaze to her baby.

 

The young woman patted his back but he did not take kindly to being touched in such a state. “Don’t,” he started to say before another heave. ‘“ **_Please don’t touch me, you’ll burn.”_ **

  
  


She was so taken aback by such a statement. Jacob felt burns on his skin, acid burning him to the bone. “Jacob, there is nothing burning you. You’re safe!”

 

How did she explain the acid dripping on his skin then? It was so clear to him yet no one else saw his pain. No one felt the flames on his skin, sizzling his arm hair down to the root, tinges of pain kissing his skin over and over again.

 

 In bitterness, he ached in silence. With silence, came potent bitterness and that turned into a fierce hate. Jacob was always filled with so much hate. From the time he was 16, he was so hateful. He hated everyone but his brothers, why didn’t anyone help them? He hated the system for failing him and his brothers, he hated himself for failing himself and all his loved ones. Jacob knew nothing but hate from the time he was a young boy, the love in his heart was destroyed by bitter hate. 

 

“I said don’t touch me!”

 

Mustard gas burned his skin in the past and his wicked past always came back to haunt him. 

 

 He rinsed his mouth out with water, swishing away the taste of acid and disgust. “It hurts, God, make it stop. I can’t get this taste out, I can’t wash the burn off my skin.” 

 

_ Why won’t it go away? Why do I still burn? There is no gas on you. There is nothing.  _

 

All she could do was let him go through his episode, as much as it broke her heart. Jacob was still, apart from his trembling legs, the denim felt like a thousand pounds on his skin, the jacket felt so restrictive and overbearing. He had to release himself. She slowly backed away from him, unsure if she made him feel restricted or crowded. 

 

_ Why couldn’t I just hold on a little longer?  _

_ Why did I betray him?  _

_ Why did I hurt this family I do not deserve?  _

 

Jacob splashed cold water on his face, digging his nails into his own palm to snap him back. 

The pain made him feel human, the war filled a void inside him that would consume him one day. It would eat away at him, day by day, night to night, eroding his mind and body until he was nothing but ashes in an urn. “Jacob?” 

 

Vivienne, holding a glass of water she placed on the sink.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please come back with me.” Tears were cascading down her cheeks in a never-ending fall. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help you. I see… I see you’re in pain and I can’t do anything.” Viv began to ramble on, words running and running on without reason, all she wanted to do was speak to him as a friend, even if she spoke complete nonsense. Jacob was trapped in his own head and she needed to break him free, but only he could be the one to do that. 

 

Viv locked the door behind her, leaning against the door. “Sam used to do this all the time, you know. Used to think his skin burned from gas. Wouldn’t let anyone see him, wash his skin off for hours in hot showers.” 

 

Jacob spat into the sink, rinsing his mouth again with mouthwash, the vague pain it caused in his mouth was a release of tension; it wasn’t the same as lighters on his skin but it would do. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“Sorry for what?” Viv asked him. 

“For everything. I ruined your fucking night.” 

“No, you didn’t. My parents did. They think I’m whoring around.” 

 

Jacob let out a chuckle. “Whatever they think.” 

 

There was a long pause, the silence was licking their wounds so tenderly. 

 

“Maybe not a great time but… that grad party hasn’t started if you wanna go with me. Get your mind off this whole thing.” Viv said slowly. Jacob nodded, he would have to drive her there anyway. 

 

“Yeah. I’d like that. I’ll meet you in the car. Just… let me freshen up. I’m gross and sweaty now.” 

 

Vivienne smiled wide, showing off those perfect white teeth. “Okay.” She patted his shoulder, the jacket he wore was itchy against her skin, she wondered how he wore such a thing. 

 

Walking through her now empty house was painful, the heated argument still playing in her head over and over again… 

 

~~_**_______** _ ~~

 

The drive to her school was slow, melodic and thoughtful. Jacob made sure the radio was on the highest setting as he drove down the highway to the backroads, peach orchards and lakes. They did not talk the whole way, lyrics filled the car the entire time, singing and letting their arms rest out the windows. He drove slow by the peaches so she could reach out and grab a hand full and eat them on the way there. His eyes kept glancing to her when she bit into the fresh fruit, watching the way her lips wrapped around the fuzzy peach, how gentle she bit down, the soothing way she licked her lips after. His mind was starting to drift. Bite after bite, her lips were coated with the sweet nectar. Jacob was craving it. 

 

Just as he pulled into the parking lot, Viv placed her hand on his as he ran it across the wheel. Jacob flinched at her sudden touch, the softness of her hands on his, how silky her fingertips felt. “Hey,” she said. 

“What?” he asked. 

  
  


“Do you just wanna… chill? With me? Before we go in?” 

 

Jacob looked around the truck, watching the last few people walk into the school. 

 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” 

 

Jacob turned up the music and watched as the stars twinkled out the window. He found himself matching their shining beauty to the girl beside him, how they shined even in the darkest of hours. “Thanks, Jacob.” 

 

“For what?” he cocked a fiery brow in her direction. “For being with me. For taking me out here… for… just… being.” 

 

“For being,” he said. 

“Yeah. Just being you. Being here, just bein’.”

“Thanks, Viv. I’ll just…  _ keep bein’.” _

 

Silence. It was pure silence even when the music played, even when thrash metal solos filled the parking lot, there was a perfect stillness between them. 

 

Jacob knows what he wants. Vivienne knows what she wants. 

 

“Hey,” he starts, “Viv?”

She turns to look at him, her lipgloss shimmering under the moonlight shining in her window. 

His hands tense up, his mouth waters. 

 

“I want you.” 

 

She was taken aback, why would he want her of all people?

 

“Do you want me too?” a tinge of pain was laced around his voice. Of course, she didn’t want someone like him. Her silence hurt his soul, her lack of reply just in time made him regret ever saying it. 

 

Viv undid her seat belt and slowly touched his thigh, his warm, supple thigh. It was just how she imagined. 

 

Jacob let out a gasp and lowered back his seat and pulled her on his lap, covering her neck and chest with kisses, love bites, and traces of his tongue. Viv’s words slurred and tried to touch his face tenderly, but he only grabbed her wrists and held them behind her back, he was too grotesque to be touched by such a pretty girl. “C’ mere,” he mumbled through a kiss. He took her outside the truck and lifted her into the truck bed, a thin sheet covering the hard plastic grates. 

 

“Lay down.” 

 

He was harsher than she anticipated now, commanding her, not bothering to ask or request. 

 

She did just that. 

 

When he laid between her legs, the dragging of his jeans made her thighs shiver as her dress started to rise up. Jacob questioned what he was doing the whole time but he didn’t care all that much. She never told him no. 

  
  


Jacob kissed her mouth tenderly, tasting the peaches on her tongue. It was sweet, delicious; it only gave him more of a reason to kiss her as deeply as he did. “Jacob,” she whispered. “Please be gentle with me.” 

  
  


Jacob gave her a nod, diverting his gaze from her. He buried his face into her neck so she wouldn’t see a creature like him, hideous and violent. “I don’t want you to say my name,” he instructed her, moving her underwear aside, sloppily undoing his own zipper. “I want to. I want to say your name, I want you close to me.” Jacob could not trust these words coming from her mouth.  _ You’re disgusting. You are vile. You are filthy.  _

 

He shook the thoughts from his head and kissed her cheeks to her ears, biting down on the soft lobe. 

 

Viv dug her nails into his back, clawing them down to his neck, her hands exploring the battle-worn flesh under fingers. “J-acob,” she so blatantly ignored what he said. “It hurts,” she cried softly, desperate for something to bite down on. “It hurts,” she said again, feeling him deeper, he was gentle just at first until he found how warm and comforting she felt. 

 

“You’ll be fine, just relax.  _ I’ve gotcha.”  _

 

Moonlight hit his back, stars running down his thighs to his boots. It was cold against him, but the confines of Viv felt so warm. Thrusts started to blur in her mind, they blended into one movement, pushing her deeper into the truck sheet. She remembered what he said:  _ don’t touch me, you’ll burn. _

 

But now all she wanted was to touch him, feel him inside and out. She wanted him. All of him, every scar, every shard of metal in his skin; all of him. 

 

He was strangely quiet, repressing all the sounds he wanted to make but it disgusted him to the bone. While Viv was letting him know how wonderful she felt… 

 

_ He said I’d burn.  _

_ I don’t feel any burn.  _

_ He’s wrong.  _

 

Jacob wasn’t thinking about how ugly he was for that moment, the way she touched his hair made him feel so handsome, how her nails drifted over his ears. So tender and sweet. 

 

“Vivienne, I’m-” 

“ **_Please_ ** .” 

His dog tags fell from his shirt, brushing over rosy lips. 

 

The hitch in his breath, the tension falling from his shoulders, he melted right into her. It was bliss, pure, unfiltered bliss. 

 

Jacob glanced up to see the lights in the distance slowly turning off as the cities began to sleep. She wrapped her arms around him, still touching his soft tresses with her nails. "You didn't burn me." 

The words were etched into his mind. he didn't burn her.

 

"We should... get to your party," Jacob muttered to her, slowly going to lay beside her. 

She could feel the warmth of blood against her thighs as she got comfortable on the sheets. Now wasn't the time to say anything. 

 

"Um, yeah. You're right... can't miss that."   
  
She pulled her dress down and looked back to see the small pool of blood sinking into the sheet. "Shit," Viv whispered to herself...  


 

Just as they began to walk to the school, she paused and grabbed his hand. "You didn't burn me," she said again." 

 

There was a soft smile on his face.   
  
"I'm... glad." 

 

_ I didn't burn her.  _

 

_ he didn't burn me.  _


	6. Free As A Bird;Sweet As A Peach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter depicts graphic terrorism and religious extremism. This chapter in no way properly portrays Islam or the Muslim people. Please use common sense.  
> I also really dislike this chapter but I hope you enjoy :)

  
  


Iraq\Syria border. 

 

The sun had barely risen above the horizon and the Fajr prayer had the entire militia camp with their heads to the rugs, AK-47s on their backs, and packages of c4 in the corner of their tents. All just before the morning sun would cover the blood-stained soil underneath the fighters’ feet. There was no shortage of bullets splayed across the ground, mingling with the ripped uniforms of Saddam soldiers. 

 

Among the fighters and supposed warriors of God, resided young women who would most likely be sold like cattle or sent off to be suicide bombers in American camps. But among the Al Qaeda fighters and brainwashed young men, lived a daughter of Talib amongst the rubble and terror. 

 

“Zeynab?” the quiet voice whispered into the radio microphone, looking behind her to make sure the soldiers didn’t bust inside the tent. “Listen to me,” the voice continued as sweat dripped down her forehead and into the silky black cloth over her mouth.

 “I know what you want to do but…  _ I can not leave.  _ They will kill me, they will rape and pillage more soil, they will kill, they will take more and more until there are no trees left to harvest. If they can send a child to die, what will they do to me?” A shiver ran through her bones. 

 

“I miss you habibti. I miss you so dearly.” Zeynab whispered into the radio again, tears rimming her eyes. “You must try. Come with me, we can escape; seek asylum.” 

 

“ _ After what I’ve done, no one will accept me.” the voice said again.  _

“It is not your fault, Ramla. You have no choice.” Zaynab urged her, drumming her fingers on the dingy plastic table under her palm. “You are so close to me, yet so far from me. I won’t give up on you, you are worth every struggle, every wound, and every hardship. What is a man without his family?” 

 

Ramla sighed. 

 

“Ramla, there was a man I had saved, American --  _ Infidel  _ your men would say, but his name was Jacob Seed, airborne sniper and I saved his life, perhaps now he will save mine! If he is a true soldier then he should know when to aid those in need, yes?” 

 

“Yes, Zeynab. But you trust him not to shoot me down on contact? Do you know the men I must see? The same men who would kill you and I both for having Talib blood in us. The men women and children fear, Zeynab, please, I am begging you-” 

Their conversation was forced to be cut short as the tent flap opened. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons, switching channels. “What are you doing?” his voice was snappy and harsh, slightly muffled by the scarf covering his mouth. “Prayer, brother. Do not be silly.”

 

There was a smile behind the facial covering on her, her eyes showing it like rays of sunshine in the midst of war. The man grumbled to himself, his dark, amber eyes looking at the radio on the desk. “Come with me, sister.” 

 

Walking through the camp was painful, stepping over empty bullet shells and used grenades. “Today is your martyrdom.” his voice was colder than ice. An older man held a vest crafted of explosives. There was a sinking feeling in her chest, deeper than the oceans dividing her from the man who was so painfully similar to her. “Istishhad,” the older man said with a smile on his face.  _ But this is a great sin.  _

 

Ramla thought of Zeynab and their conversation of freedom in the States. If she denied this moment, she would be killed and left in a ditch to rot. Accepting it, the highest place in heaven so these men claimed. But the only heaven Ramla wanted was on that plane with her sister. 

  
  


Taking the vest, she glanced at the younger children watching in her footsteps. 

 

She took the attire with a heavy heart. “Where will I go?” 

 

“Mosul.” 

 

There was a tinge in her chest again, she would be so much closer to Zeynab now. 

 

She went back into her tent, clicking the radio off and snipping the cord in half with a knife. Before she left, ruining their chances of survival would be in everyone’s best interest. Zeynab would be going to the Mosul Airport and it would be so simple to strip off the bombs and run away forever. Removing her garb, another sister had walked into the tent. “Let me help you.” 

 

As a mother, the older woman helped attach the C4 to her smaller frame. “It is a great honor, my dear.” 

 

“Sister, was it not Muhammed who spoke higher of a scholar than a martyr?” Ramla asked, running her fingers through the long, ebony locks falling from her scarf. “Sister, sister,” she told Ramla endearingly, “we are in need of a martyr.” 

 

Ramla swallowed hard, lifting her arms up and the heaviness of the explosives weighed her down.  “Today, you take the Rafidah to hell.” 

 

_ But I am a Rafidah, you stupid cow.  _

 

“Silence now, dear. Go speak with Ismail and he will take you.” 

 

Tying her scarf over her face, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, the bulk under her niqab just looked like extra layers of cloth. She walked to Ismail, the eyes of children on her in awe. “Come, sister.” 

 

Just they had driven to Mosul, Jacob had just taken his weekly trip to the grocery store, dropping a few bucks in the  _ for the troops  _ bucket. He had gotten several letters from Zeynab over the last 2 months, describing her detailed plan of coming to the USA. He supported her and wanted to give her a warm welcome. Just as he entered the door, Vivienne was sitting at the table, legs propped up on the table. 

 

“Who’s this Zeynab chic?” she asked with childlike innocence. Jacob’s brow lowered in annoyance. “Are you reading my letters?” he asked, a seriousness laced around each word that makes her shiver. He was not playing. 

 

“Are you?” Jacob asked. 

“Well, it was on the table.” 

“So?”   
“So… was your name on it? No. It wasn’t. Don’t do it again.” 

“You never told me who she was.” 

“She saved my life in Iraq. Leave it at that.” 

 

Viv wouldn’t let it rest. “So?” She poked. 

“So what?” 

“So what’s she like? Why did she save ya? I thought those types would just chop your head off.” 

Jacob gritted his teeth. “She wasn’t like that. She risked her life to save me.”

 

Jacob was growing tired of these questions. “Just don’t look through my things.” 

 

Viv rolled her eyes at him and treated it more like a game than basic respect. “Whatever,” she muttered.

 

“Whatever is right. Leave it alone.” 

“You know, can you even trust her?”    
Jacob lost his patience, the badgering and verbal lashings were getting under his skin. “She saved my life. You didn’t see what I saw, you did not see what she did for me.  _ You wouldn’t know.”  _

 

Jacob looked away from the girl and snatched the letters off the table, clenching them tight, the paper crinkling between his fingers. He stormed outside, walking up the hill in their backyard to enter the deep woodlands. He looked down at the letters and ordered them from start to finish on the ground. 

 

_ Salam Jacob. Are you well?  _

_As much as I would love to hear more about your civilian life, I can not waste time on these things. I have lived in Mosul my entire life. Do you know what it is like to see your childhood home devoured by bombs? Have you had your gardens burned to the ground and poisoned with mustard and sarin gas? Having to pick up the remains of your brothers and sisters, washing them before their funerals, but their skin is burned and charred black and gasoline from exploded cars. This is not the future I want. This is not what I want my sister to have. When you get this, please know I am coming. No matter If I see you at the port or not, know that if I hadn’t saved you, I would not be here. Your comrades who stayed back were the ones who helped me contact you. Their names were William King and Josiah Young, give them my many thanks. I had been giving them aid when they came my way, food, water, a place to rest. It is the way we live, we feed those who need to be fed, let those rest, rest, and those who need protection, we will protect. Just Muhammed,_ ** _Sallallahu_** **_Alayhi_** **_w_** _a_ ** _salaam said_** _: Allah has made generosity the highest moral virtue._

 

_ There is something lonely about writing to you, something my ink can’t process.  _

_ Something I can’t understand, something I don’t really want to understand. They say that if you have no friends in your community then you are a stranger to your land. _

 

_  I feel like an immigrant in my own country, seeing the many shades of Americans come here holding guns and armed to the teeth in camouflage. I am a stranger because I have no one else.  _

 

_ The people you met in my camp are dead. The elderly and children I buried myself, shallow graves and fake flowers were the only things I could give them. I could not give them peace or safety in their own homes. There are children who asked me what they did to bring on this war and bloodshed, and there is nothing I can say to them to make their fears disperse into the air.  _

_ Because I do not know. _

 

_ I have grown into a woman in Iraq, I have grown many gardens, I have raised many children, just as I have raised many elderly before their graves. I have spent many lifetimes as a mother, a martyr, a friend. Before you came, the injustice against the Shia’t was my biggest concern. I have seen them in Saddam’s prisons, I have seen them suffer, I have seen them die. I have watched many men die, I could have left you to die.  _

 

_ I did not tell you but I was in the same situation, no food, no water. There was a man who saved me just as I saved you, I was surprised to see the American flag on his arm, to see the cross necklace hanging from his neck. He gave me aid when I had no one. I felt for you, Jacob. I felt your pain, your thirst was mine, your hunger was mine, and your pain was mine. I was you and you were me. You were a stranger in an unknown land you’ve only seen on the news, you had no one, your friends were the soldiers beside you and the rifles on your back. Weapons will not feed you, weapons will never bring you peace.  _

 

_ Jacob, when I think of you, my heart hurts. I pray for you every day without fail, I asked God to bring you peace, I begged him to keep you safe. I begged him to keep you happy, healthy, safe.  _

 

_ I cried when I prayed for him to keep you away from here. I wanted him to guide you away from here. I want you to come here as a friend, not as an invader.  I do not want to see you with uniform, I want to see your jaw drop when you see the beauty of Karbala. I want to see the smile on your face when you try dolma, biryani, and booza. I don’t want you to think of Iraq and think of terror, I don’t want you to think of the pain you suffered.  _

  
  


_ I want you to think of me, I want you to think of the joys we have, I want you to think of the sun shining on cities and children playing. Think of the hero that was Imam Hussain, the heroes of Mesopotamia.  _

 

_ One day I will tell you the story of Hussain, for my handwritten words do it no justice. I will tell you a story to jerk your heart, I will tell you a story that is deep within our history. And then? I want you to tell me a story. Your story. I want you to tell me your origin, what you hope to be in 10 years. I want you to tell me about your childhood memories. There is so little I know about the man I saved. I want to know you and I want to share something with you.  _

 

_ May God be with you, my dear friend.  _

 

_ Yours truly  _

_ Zeynab A.  _

 

Jacob had to stop himself from choking. He ran his index finger along the wrinkled edges of the letter, Viv had clearly held it with great force. Jacob read over it several times before resting his eyes between his thumb and index finger. “One day,” he said to himself. 

 

_ One day, perhaps one day soon. _

 

Northern Iraq, nightfall. 

 

Ramla had been awake the entire truck ride into the city of Mosul, adjusting the vest under he abaya. “Calm yourself, sister,” the man behind the wheel spoke calmly, “Understand this, sister Khadijah, what you’re about to do will bring even more power to the cause.” 

 

_ Quit calling me that. That is not my name.  _

 

“I know, brother, I know. I will rest with the green birds of paradise.” 

“Alhamdulillah, I envy you, sister.” 

 

_ You should. I’ll put you in the ground.  _

 

She smiled under her veil. “Well, yes. I will see you one day. Home of martyrs, hm?” 

 

_ “Indeed.”  _

 

The nasheed played softly on the radio, how she wanted to replace it with Shia war tunes and ruthlessly stab Ismail in the throat, it would be just that easy. There was a silence in the truck, rumbling engines would normally lull her to sleep but her mind was screaming for freedom. 

 

Her hand slowly reached under her abaya, playing it off as fixing the pants under. “Ismail, can you please turn up here? Saddam’s men are less active this way.” 

 

“Understood sister.” 

 

He went to turn the truck into the off-road, heading deeper into the mountain. Falcons flew above them and Ramla swore the black bird flying above them had a light pink ribbon on his ankle. The birds flew low to the ground, waiting for more people to drop dead and die of heatstrokes after wandering into the deepest part of the mountains.  __

 

_ Is that… my…?  _

 

Ramla watched as her bird circled over her and Ismail, perhaps it was perfect timing. 

  
  


“Brother,” she said slowly, her fingers locking around the wicked blade under her lower half. “When this is over, I want you to see me in paradise, I want to see you with a smile on your face, happiness, you know?” 

 

“Why so suddenly, sister?”  There was a pause, it felt like it lasted years before another word was spoken. The pause felt like time froze around them, black magic created by meer human brains. 

  
  


Ramla’s heart ached, there was some part of her that cared for the people who took her as a child, but their brainwashing would never make the young girl crack or tear at the seams. Her name, her honor, her history meant more to her than black banners and resting with green birds. 

 

Zeynab, her mother, her father, sacrificed too much for her to fall into the blanket of terror. She would never go back on her bloodline, shut her eyes tight to the bitter truth around her. 

 

It wasn’t easy to kill someone and watch the light drain from their eyes. Even for Jacob… 

 

Though Jacob killed from a distance, he did not get to see the bloody details of death until he was shoved into hand to hand combat. Much like Ramla, he had had his share of bloody battles with knives and teeth. They both had their shares of beating men to death with rocks and drowning men in shallow pools of water. They knew base survival, the base thoughts of keeping yourself alive for as long as possible. 

 

She had used the skills  _ he  _ gave her against him and there was no greater joy than to work from the inside. 

 

Ramla grabbed the wheel and slammed the truck into a tree, large patches of bark cracking the windshield. Ismail hit his nose on the wheel and blood ran down the back of his throat, the bitter taste of iron making him gag. Ramla repeatedly stabbed him in the stomach, her knife tearing apart the thin white shirt he wore under his stolen Iraqi soldier. The visions of green birds flashed before his eyes and he thought heaven was just in his grasp.  _ May the green birds grant you peace.  _

 

Her black-clad hands were soaked in his blood, she could not risk smearing it all over the place and then driving into Mosul. She still had to handle the bombs strapped to her, one misstep and she would end up  _ all over  _ the desert. “la illah ila Allah, la illah ila Allah, la illah ila Allah,” she chanted over and over again as she stripped out of her niqab, gently laying it on the front of the truck. Her hands trembled at the thought of war.  _ Zeynab, why can’t you be here and help me?  _

 

Ramla undid the straps in the front, the ticking of c4 was driving her crazy, they could go off with the slightest wrong hit. She didn’t have much time to work, as she still needed to meet Zeynab at the port. Just a few more straps and she could throw them off and drive out of here. Her heart was pounding a million miles a minute, fiddling with straps and buckles. She didn’t have much time left, nor did she think this through properly. Curses left her breath as her arms struggled to reach the top buckle on her shoulder blades.  The design had been made more complex after the many failed attacked, Iraqi soldiers removing the vests from children with ease before. Now, a bit of a fight would be made. 

 

When the last buckle was unclipped, Ramla tore the vest from her body and threw it off into the sand, clawing at her neck for air. The weight was lifted off her shoulders and she fell to the ground, her airways feeling restricted with heavy hands of anxiety. “Fuck,” she groaned, tears of joy streaming down her face and into the hot sand. “ Esh ked heluwa el hurriya, thank you, God.” 

  
  


She sprinted into the truck, grabbing the corpse of her former comrade and leaving him for the birds. Speaking of which, she banged on the hood of the car and in seconds, her noble falcon swooping down and landing right by her hand. “Habibah! My love!” she cheered, scratching the bird’s head. “Wait… is this the last time I will see you?” her voice carried a sadness around each word, that was her best friend through many dangers.  _ “Silly girl,”  _ she giggled, cleaning the tears from her eyes. “Follow me,” she gestured the bird to follow her command and like a loyal soldier, she did.  

 

The ride to Mosul was quick, her foot pushed the gas to the floor, the loyal bird flying high above. 

 

Rome, Ga

Jacob had walked back to the house, leaving a trail of mud behind him on the steps and porch. He was annoyed, tired, and hungry; certainly no mood to be bothered. But just as he reached to open the fridge, Viv grabbed his hand, tugging him away from the fridge and towards the table. 

 

“I’m pregnant.” 

“Are you sure it’s not the extra cake?”  Jacob retorted. 

“Jacob!”

“I’m just saying.” 

“Then say that to this then!” she held up the positive pregnancy test.

 

Jacob rolled his ocean eyes. 

 

“So what? You pissed on it, who even knows if they’re accurate?”

 

“Jacob. I took three of them, okay? I missed a period…. How am I gonna tell mom?”

 

Jacob was trained to handle the worst cases of things, but he wasn't trained to handle an unexpected pregnancy. The smirk on his face was turned into a soft frown and his vibrant eyes turned soft with shame. “I…” 

 

“Yeah. I’m fucking pregnant.” 

 

Jacob shook his head. “I’m… sorry. And you can’t get rid of it.”

 

“It? Jacob, this is a person. I’m not getting an abortion, even if I could... I wouldn’t.” 

“Just… wait it out. Wait it out… we gotta think this out. C’min, we need to get to bed.” 

“You’re right but…”

“But nothing…” he said with a soft smile, guiding the young girl to her bedroom. 

 

12 hours later 

 

Jacob had woken up to a phone call on his flip phone, the buzzing under his pillow tickled his face. 

 

“Hello?” he said in a sleepy voice. 

“Oh, thank God! Jacob, is this you?”

“Huh? What?” 

“Jacob Seed! This is Zeynab! Are you awake? Did I wake you?”

 

Jacob kicked his covers off himself. “Zeynab? Where are you?” 

“I’m in Rome! City in Georgia! I’m with my sister.” 

“Okay, okay. Do I need to come to get you? I’m in Rome now, I live here.”

“Oh! Bless your soul, my friend. Could you, please?” 

“On my way.” 

Jacob hung up his phone and tossed it on the nightstand just beside him. He slipped into his day clothes, his army jacket the centerpiece of his whole outfit.  His 82 AIRBORNE patch glaringly obvious. 

 

Viv still slept in the other room, soundly resting as Jacob carried on his mission. Racing out the door with the taste of toothpaste still in his mouth, he spat into the ground a few times before slamming the door of his car and skidding out of the driveway. 

 

Just as Jacob sped to pick the Ashaad sisters up, they made themselves acquainted with the area. “Zeynab, I am… so happy to be with you again.”

“Oh, me too, my darling. Me too.” 

 

Ramla had walked around the port, looking out the windows and seeing the wide, open land of Rome. “Zeynab,” she called her over, “Look!” she pointed to the birds flying overhead, feathers falling to the ground as they dove down. 

 

Jacob shut the door to his truck and speed-walked into the port. Jacob looked around for the two women, unsure of what he should look for. The place was jam-packed with people, people coming and going, to and fro. Jacob made his way past the fellow Americans before seeing a set of young ladies dressed in all black, apart from the bright red trim on the bottom of one’s dress.  _ Zeynab? That you? _

 

“Pardon me, ma’am, are you the person I’m looking for?” 

 

The woman turned to face him, those blue hues deep within her head became bright with joy. Zeynab dropped her jaw and covered her gaping mouth with her hands. “Ramla! This was the man I wrote to you about!” Zeynab embraced him tightly, digging her nails into his camo jacket. “Ohh, bless you, Habibi, bless you, bless you.” She has a sense of peace washed over her when she saw him. 

 

Jacob touched the back of her headscarf, the silky smooth fabric gliding over his fingers as he backed away from the older one.

 

“Miss Ramla, nice to meet you, ma’am. Happy to have you. I’m Jacob Seed, your sister saved my life.” The younger girl hugged him, standing on her toes to reach him. “You’re very tall,” she laughed. “Been told, now, are y’all hungry? Ya want something to eat?”   


Ramla shook her head. “No, you do not need to spend money on us.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not asking. You’re hungry, you eat.” Zeynab tapped his shoulder and he turned to her instantly. “Don’t cry, Zeynab. I hate seeing pretty girls cry,” he chuckled, going to sweep the tears from her eyes. “They’re happy tears,” she reassured him. Years of suffering, oppression, were released in just 12 hours. Turmoil, pain, and agony were simply dispersed into the air around her. She hugged him again, holding the back of his neck, her hands soft, gentle, and warm against his skin. “ Esh ked heluwa el hurriya,” she said into his ear, the velvety words hitting his heart even when he did not understand. 

 

Her worried, her fears, her struggles were all taken away in his arms. “Thank you, thank you… thank you.” He smiled against her shoulder as he held her head against him. “Of course, the whole reason I went over there was to fight for freedom, and that means yours too.” 

 

Jacob walked them to his car and the ladies inhaled the free air, there was no scent of burning flesh or gasoline. “Your town is beautiful,” Zeynab commented as she walked by the bed of flowers.

 

_ Not as pretty as you…  if she thinks this is pretty, she should look in a mirror. _

 

The sisters were giddy and childish together, pointing at the pretty native birds. 

 

“C’ mon, ladies, there’s time for sight-seeing when we  _ get somewhere prettier.”  _

 

Driving had never been a joy for them, seeing the small town of Rome was still exciting as the music blasted from the windows. Jacob had put on  _ Fortunate Son,  _ finding it just right for the moment. 

 

__

**_But when the taxman comes to the door_ **

**_Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale_ **

 

Jacob made sure to drive slowly through the humble city, adoring the sounds of the oohs and ahhs. 

 

“Oh, it is lovely,” Ramla spoke her entire head sticking out the window. “Can we stop somewhere? I’d like to look around, perhaps the park?”

 

“Sounds mighty fine to me, honey.” 

 

Stopping at the park, young Ramla wanted to look at everything while Zeynab walked with Jacob and admired with him. The wind picked up and she breathed in the fresh air. “It feels like a dream, being here… with... “ she paused, no, no, it was too soon. 

 

“I… I am happy.” 

“I’m happy too. I’m happy you’re here, Zeynab. Really.”

 

She walked over to the park benches, tables lied under the small roof. 

 

She sat down and placed her documents in the table. 

 

“When you spoke to me at the airport, what did you say?” Jacob asked, a genuine look of interest in his crystal blue hues. 

Zeynab smiled softly, thinking back to that massive interaction with him at the Rome airport. “Eshked heluwa el huriya?” she repeated smoothly, running her fingertips over the stack of papers on the table.

 “Yeah, that,” Jacob replied, nodding his head. “How beautiful is freedom…” the words hit Jacob’s heart, it touched him how strongly she felt. “Surely you understand the joys of not having to fear to step on a landmine or inhale sarin gas?”

 She leaned over the table to touched his dog tags, tracing the outer metal. She read the letters and looked up at him as if confirming the information. 

**_“You can say that again. Feels good to see you and not be on the verge of a heatstroke.”_ **

 

“Likewise _ Jacob, my friend.” _

 

  
  


**_  
  
_ **

  
  
  



	7. Milk and Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting late @ night, trusting my Grammarly to do me right bc im too burnt ti read over this for the 20th time   
> enjoy

Jacob was the first one awake in the house, spending hours in his training room, violently attacking the punching bag with brutal kicks and hard punches As bruises formed on the tops and ankles on his feet, Zeynab stood in the doorway and judged his attacks. He was swift, strong and deadly. His hands were wrapped with bandages, faint traces of blood staining the pure white. Her eyes watched as both his shoulders pushed his punches into the bag, muscles rippling with a thin layer of sweat trickling down his bareback. Grunts escaped him as he pushed his body to the limit, climbing the towers of endurance with each punch and kick. “Shit,” he murmured thickly, shaking out his hands, his fingers aching down to the bone. 

 

Viv and her parents had gone to a PTA meeting that morning, leaving Jacob alone to his blasting music and boyish ramblings. AC\DC was playing loud and Jacob sang the words under his breath, enjoying his solitude and sweat session. 

 

“ _ Knocking me out with them American thighs…”  _

 

_ “Yeah, you shook me all night long.”  _

 

Zeynab chuckled, her plump lips curling into a fox grin. “You look good, I’ve seen this style many times before. You went to Fort Benning, right?” She chimed in with a head tilt. 

 

“Fort Bragg,” he replied with a kick into the right side of the bag. He wiped the sweat from his brow and downed half the bottle of his ice-cold water, trickling down his chest and rolling down the curls of his ample chest hair. “They train 82nd Airborne and SOF at Bragg and 198th Infantry at Benning.” he finished off his bandages with a final blow. He turned to face her, surprised to see her without her long dress, rather a set of black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. 

 

“You wanna have a go?” Jacob quizzed.    
“With you?” Zeynab perked a brow.   
“If that’s what you’re thinking,” Jacob chuckled. 

 

Zeynab circled him like a lioness around her wounded prey, waiting for the moment to strike. Jacob was almost lost in the movement of her feet, the way her tendons flexed with each step, she walked with such purpose. The invisible tightrope between them was pulling her close to him. The way her eyes turned into slits with concentration, the seconds that passed only made the wrinkles in her forward more apparent. She’d never strike from behind, Jacob could just tell that about her. 

 

She went to give him a kick in the neck, Jacob grabbed her ankle and knocked her to the ground, his forearm holding her down by the chest. Her leg was stuck under him, he could feel her muscles trying to push him off, but he wasn’t going to let up. She was the one who accepted his challenge in the first place. 

 

Zeynab grabbed him by the shirt, her nails scratching against his neck. She grunted, biting the inside of her cheek in a strong focus. She used her knee to push him off her, the wind was knocked from his lungs as she kicked him onto his back. With her hands still wrapped tightly around his shirt, she pinned her balled fist to his chest. The moment he tried to push her off, her hand traveled to his throat, the stray but thick hairs burning her fingertips. 

 

She straddled his waist with a hand around his throat for a split second, a ferocious look in her eyes before his hands was wrapped around hers, ripping it from the contours of his throat. He had pulled her forward and she surged on top of him. And in just a flash, their roles were reversed; Zeynab with her back against the floor and Jacob’s strong hands pinning her down. 

  
  
  


When he glanced up at him, his mouth was slightly agape with heavy exhales escaping the confines of his teeth. Zeynab chuckled deeply, yet another sly grin on her face. She banged her foot on the floor twice and he instantly let her go and pulled her up to her feet in one swift motion. “Goob job, you’re better than I thought,” he teased, tossing his half-empty water bottle to her. She caught it with ease and finished it off. “Oh? Did you think that? How silly of you,  _ rouhi.”  _

 

Jacob lowered the music and rolled his shoulders, his upper back popping. Zeynab perked a brow at the sounds. “You know, there was a man who asked me to walk on his back to get those sounds,” she sat on the edge of the spinny chair, rubbing the bottom’s of her feet as the aches formed. “Ramla would do it to our  _ ummi  _ and it would make her feel better.” 

 

Jacob smiled. “Your  _ ummi?”  _ he asked. 

“Our mother, I had forgotten the English word for it,” she admitted. “What do you call your mother in America?” she asked with a curious head cock. “Mom, just mom. I reckon in my case, the ghost.” 

 

Zeynab wondered if she should even ask. “The ghost, you say?” she asked tenderly. 

 

“Forget I said anything.” 

 

She didn’t force the issue. 

 

“Zeynab, I gotta… tell you something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

He paused. “So, the girl who lives here. Vivienne Miller, she… um…. Well…”

 

“I saw her, around five in the morning for my prayer. She looked at me like I was…  I don’t have the words to say it.” She trailed off, the words falling gracefully off her accented tongue.

 

 “She seems like she holds a lot of anger on her shoulders. Resentment.” Zeynab followed through, tapping her foot on the floor. “I want to be gracious to her, for allowing strangers into her home. Two women from unknown lands she has only seen on the news, a land you have only seen as a war ground.” 

 

Jacob heard the front door unlock. “Just, come meet her mother and father. That’s all I ask of you Zeynab.” 

 

“You could ask so much more of me and you can rest easy knowing I  _ would  _ do it.” There was sincerity in her words, how delicate they flowed off her lips. “I will be blunt with you, Jacob. Do you believe I had not heard the god awful words from the mouths of your fellow soldiers? I have faith her family will be different.” 

 

Jacob lowered his head, his long vermillion eyelashes covering the deep irises basked in ocean waves. “I’ll keep you safe, Zeynab, you don’t have to worry. 

 

“Oh, I’m not worried.” 

 

Jacob pulled his shirt over his head and escorted her into the living room, she walked beside him, lingering behind him and he instantly wanted to shield her from the fresh gazes of strangers. 

 

“Ma’am, sir,” he greeted Viv’s parents just like the first day he met them. “I’d like you to meet someone, someone who saved my life in Iraq. She has come here seeking asylum with her younger sister.” Zeynab walked from behind Jacob. 

 

“As salamu Alaikum, I’m happy to meet you both. My name is Zeynab Ashaad, I am from the city of Mosul with my sister Ramla Ashaad. I am happily at your service with anything you need, helpfulness is next to godliness.” she bowed her head and stuck her hand out to shake their hands. “Miss Vivienne,” Zeynab greeted. 

 

“I’m very glad to meet you.” 

 

“Yes, you too, Zeynab.” Viv gave her classic fake smile and Jacob was entirely displeased. 

“My sister is off running errands at the market, she will return shorty. I would love to prepare your dinner as a thank you for your generosity.” 

 

Jacob’s lip twitched. 

 

“Thank you,” her mother said. 

  
  


“Now, we don’t have a lot of your kind here,” her father said with an awkward scratch behind the neck. Zeynab only blinked twice, the light leaving her eyes and being replaced with indescribable annoyance. Her upper lip twitched and she brought her hand behind her back to show Jacob her bulging tendons and flexed fingers. Jacob read her signs clear as day. “We’re a Christian family, Miss Ashaad. We wouldn’t want that to be a problem for you, given the news and all…” Viv chimes in with another fake smile. “There will be no issue if  _ you  _ don’t have one with  _ me.  _ I come in peace.” 

 

Viv seethed, why wouldn’t she just leave? Quit hogging Jacob for herself…  _ you stupid bitch, this is the guy who knocked me up. Why do you need to even be here with him? He’s mine. Who’d want a thing like you dressed like that?  _ Viv’s cruel thoughts overtook her but those big puppy eyes stayed the same. 

 

Zeynab smiled a forced smile, but still a smile. 

 

“Yes… if you’ll excuse me, I…  I need to finish unpacking. Jacob, with me, please?” 

 

\------

 

Zeynab pulled Jacob into the off room of their crude gym, she said on the exercise ball, her lips pursed and eyes formed into slits. 

 

“ _ Really?”  _ she asked, a rhetorical question but…

 

“I come here, I fly miles, I walked for weeks, to come into a home with  _ such disrespect.”  _

Jacob bites his inner lips, his teeth grinding on the soft flesh. Zeynab stood up and walked straight for him, her hands trembling with a vast array of emotions. “ _ I…”  _ Zeynab started, her eyes locking on to the fingers she held at him, her skin didn’t feel like it belonged, the faint scarring on her hands from oil burns and open flames burning still, even in her mind. 

 

Jacob could sense what was going to happen. She paused, her eyes wide, still, like a deer in the headlights. 

 

Images of bombs dropping replayed in her head over and over again. The buzzing, the loud, loud buzzing still clear as day in her ears. The sounds of crashing in the distance, the impact even miles away shook her to the core, sometimes knocking her down. Having to sweep up the terrified children and hide in make-shift bomb shelters. She had watched them turn into rubble, the stench of hot, decaying flesh under the rocks, burnt clothes and sizzling skin. 

 

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, a tightness forming in her stomach, she wanted to take flight but her body forced her to fight the overwhelming sense of terror washing over her. Jacob knew the pain she felt, the terror, the guilt. “I’m so sorry,” she cried in her palms, her entire body aching from the intensity of her tears. For so long, for many years, she kept it all inside but felt the safest around Jacob to let it run its course. 

 

Jacob did not jump to her side because he hated it when people did that to him, he needed his space when his mind became turbulent. 

_ “God give me strength.” _

 

Jacob heard the prayers under her breath, the tears staining the wood floors and sinking like rain to the prettiest of gardens. Jacob examined the faded tattoos on her hands, a curved sword followed the contours of her thumbs. 

 

Jacob felt wrong to watch her suffer but he knew how delicate the body was in these times of great suffering. He walked to her, hovering her like a tower over destroyed gardens and forests. He crouched to her level, his boots bending against the ground. “Zeynab,” he said. 

 

“Listen to me, you’re alright, you’re going to be alright.  _ You trust me, don’t you?”  _

 

She inhaled sharply, bringing a hand to the floor to clean away the trails of tears. “C’ mon, with me,” Jacob commanded, tightening the laces on his boots. “C’ mon, on me,” he said again. 

 

“Where are we going?” She struggled to get the words out, but Jacob did not care. “For a drive. Come. With. Me.” 

 

She nodded and Jacob grabbed her hand to pull her up with ease. “Where’s Ramla? She’s coming too.” 

 

Zeynab wiped under her eyes. “She’s on her way home to make dinner, I think.” 

 

He nodded. “Alright, well, that aside, ya need to get outta the house. Get dressed. Meet me outside.” 

 

Zeynab could see the frustration on his face, let along hear it in his voice. As she got dressed in the spare bedroom, she heard Jacob talking to Vivienne… 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Viv,” Jacob said flatly.

“Mhm?” she replied, bringing her eyes up from the fashion catalog she read as it pained her. 

“Vivienne.” 

“Mhmm?” diverting her gaze back down, brushing him off like a pesky insect. 

 

He looked around for her parents, seeing them outside doing yard work. 

“Vivienne!” He barked, ripping the magazine from her hands and throwing it on the ground. “ _ I’m talking to you,”  _ he growled, nudging the catalog behind him. 

 

He leaned down and trapped her between his arms. “What the fuck was that for?” he interrogated her like a criminal.

“What for?” 

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, how stupid do you think I am, huh?” 

 

Vivienne’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “Jacob, I… don’t think that,” she said quietly, diverting her gaze from him, a look of shame running down her face. Jacob stopped, he felt just like his father screaming at his mother, ripping her books from her hands, growling in her face in a drunken haze. 

 

_ I am not my father’s son.  _

_ I will not be my father’s son.  _

_ I will never be him, I will not be him.  _

 

He stared into her eyes. Oh, this poor soul. 

 

“Vivienne,” he said in a shaky voice, letting her go from his trap. “I didn’t -- I mean -- I didn’t--”

 

_ Want to hurt you? Who’re you kidding jake?  _

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to…  _ hurt you.”  _

 

Jacob picked up the catalog and placed it in her lap, touching her stomach, his hands were gentle, soft, softer than any hand that has ever touched him. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay… it’s just…”

_ “I know, Viv. I know.”  _

 

Jacob gave her a subtle half-smile. “Catch ya later, sweetheart.” 

 

\--------- 

 

Jacob had walked out the door, his boots echoing against the hard wooden floors. Viv sat with her hands laced over her stomach, thinking about what she would do next… Still, no one knew. Zeynab had tiptoed down the steps, her flat shoes gently twisting against the wooden steps. 

 

“Miss Vivienne?” Zeynab called from the steps, jumping off the last two with a graceful leap, the trim of her dress trailing behind her. “Come here,” Viv gestured. 

 

Zeynab was not one to follow a blind order, she hesitated, wondering if yet another distasteful comment would leave her black hole for a mouth. “Jacob? He’s mine. Don’t think you can take him.”

 

Zeynab’s eyes widened in surprise. “Miss, I-I-I… am not going to do such a thing…?” Zeynab said it more like a question. 

 

“I do not think you understand what Jacob and I have, I saw him dying, I saw him hungry, I saw him thirsty.” Zeynab’s voice carried a tinge of pain. “I saw him save my life, he watched as I risked mine to save him when Saddam soldiers raided my camp looking for Americans. Jacob… Jacob is my... “ She paused, thinking of an English word to tell the younger girl. “English does him no justice.  _ Ya rouhi. Hayati.”  _ tears rested in the ducts of Zey’s eyes. “You have to trust me, habibti. I will never betray you, hurt you, or turn my back to you.” Zeynab touched Vivienne’s hand. “Once you have me, you have me until you push me away, there is nothing I would not do for you.”

 

Viv shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just… with everything happening? Jacob knocked me up, I need to find school and work!”

 

Zeynab did not understand the term she had just heard, tilting her head in confusion. 

“Knocked you up? I don’t understand, Vivienne.” 

“Pregnant. I’m pregnant.” 

  
  
  
  


“Oh! That is wonderful, my dear. And… Jacob is my friend, you can trust me. I have known him for only a short time but… that is a man I would walk into battle with.” 

 

Viv shook her head. “I’m scared.” 

 

Zeynab felt awful about before, the wicked thoughts about Viv were replaced with kind, godly, and gentle ones. “Habibti,” she said. She crouched beside her. “You will be alright, trust in God to protect this child. Your parents will--”

 

“They don’t know.”

“You must tell them.”

“They’ll call me a whore. You don’t know them.” 

Before Zeynab could reply, Jacob laid on the horn.

 

Zeynab grew annoyed with Jacob’s lack of patience. “To be continued, my dearest.” 

 

Jacob had walked into the house, heavy boots pounding against the wooden floors like war drums. “You know,” Zeynab began, “Jacob, can we stay home today? I’d like to cook you dinner if that’s alright.” 

 

Jacob raised a brow at her request, he was set on driving around but staying home might not be a horrible idea. “Sure thing, sounds alright to me. I’m hungry anyway.” 

 

Zeynab smiled. Viv hated how softly she smiled at him. 

 

\----

 

Zeynab had banished everyone apart from her sister from the kitchen. Spices were billowing through the air as the aroma of lamb was circulating in the house, jasmine rice boiling on the gas stove alongside the pan-fried meat. Zeynab added spice after spice, handing the spoon to her younger half for a taste test. Ramla had kept her eye on Jacob, watching his shuffle around the kitchen, blatantly disobeying Zeynab’s request, but she found it so endearing that Jacob could slither out of her rules with a crooked smile laced with southern charm. He made his way behind her, his fingertips resting on her shoulder as he hovered a safe distance, watching her cook. 

 

“Would you like a taste?” Ramla asked him, a hint of shyness in her voice. Jacob took a stride over to her, he was solidly twice her size. He took the spoon from her delicate, dainty hands, the hardness of his felt so foreign to her. “It’s hot!” she warned him quickly, but he was experienced in eating scorching hot food. His eyes widened and he held the chunk of lamb between his teeth, the steam burning the roof of his mouth. Zeynab snickered. “Hamar….” she laughed, playfully smacking his shoulder. “She called you a jackass, just so you know, Jacob.” 

 

“He wasn’t supposed to know, uhkti!” Zeynab flicked a hot grain of rice at her sister. “Ouch!” 

 

“Ya Allah, don’t be a baby!” Zeynab rolled her eyes, tasting the bit of rice on the spoon. “Try it,” she scooped some up for Jacob, he was about to sneak it down until she swatted his face away. “Wait a moment, little wolf…” she blew the steam off a few times to make sure he didn’t burn himself. 

 

She held a hand under his chin as he sampled the rice. “Holy shit, that’s mighty fine,” he said with a huge smile on his face. She had never seen such a bright smile, just as Jacob had never smiled brighter. Ramla looked at Zeynab in the corner of her eye, a wicked smirk plastered over her cheeks. Jacob turned to Ramla and picked another lamb chunk from the hot pan for another taste. “So good I need another taste.” 

 

Zeynab swallowed. Did he have to say it like that? 

 

“What’s in this?” he asked. 

“Ohh, a lot. More than the Miller’s had in their spice drawer.”

Jacob let out a heavy chuckle. “Well… between you and me… this is the first time I’ seen  _ curry powder.”  _

 

Ramla rolled her eyes. “Well, that changed, didn’t it?” 

 

“Enough talk, you two! Didn’t I banish you, Mister Seed?” Zeynab looked at him like a cocky opponent, blazes of flames flickering in her eyes. 

 

“You did, you did… but how can I stay away from two pretty girls?” 

“You flattery may get you far in other places but in a kitchen, I would choose my seasoned lamb over marksmen.” Zeynab retorted holding back the smirk she wanted to show so badly. 

 

“Oh, just let him have it this time,” Ramla defended Jacob’s flattery attempts to the death.

“Before you kill each other, I’ll see my way out.” Jacob’s hand ran across Zeynab’s back as he walked by, making sure he didn’t bump into her too harshly. The sisters smiled at one another, both already adoring Jacob’s boyish charm. Perhaps  _ hamar  _ would be his new name now. 

 

By the time dinner was served, Zeynab’s feet were aching, her flat shoes weren’t doing her any favors. Meanwhile, Ramla still wore combat boots from wartime, they had never let her down in a battle, now they’d never let her down in the kitchen’s flames. 

 

“Dinner is ready!” 

 

The entire family had sat down at the table and they passed around the lamb biryani, Zeynab did not touch her plate until everyone had a hefty serving. “If I may say a prayer,” Zeynab proposed. 

 

“Please do,” the man of the house spoke. 

 

“ Bismillahi wa 'ala Baraka-tillah, In the name of God and with God's blessing, thank you for this meal and thank you for granting us a safe trip to the land of opportunity. Thank you for granting Jacob a safe trip back home to a gracious family, in war and paradise, thank you for giving my sister and me the fruits of paradise. For the sweetness of peaches in this blessed peach state bring more joy and happiness than any nectar. In peace, we eat this dinner, may we have many more days of peace and serenity in this house of Miller. Blessed be your name, O Allah. Ameen.” 

 

She sat down at the table, next to her beloved sister. Viv’s parents were surprised to see Zeynab eating with her fingertips, scooping the rice on the freshly baked naan. “Thank you for cooking,” Jacob chimed in. “Yes, thank you, Miss Ashaad. It is… very good,” the mother added. 

 

“Do not thank me, for it is a great honor for me to feed this family that has so graciously taken strangers in their home.” Zeynab happily chewed the food and took a small sip of water. She passed the rest of her plate to her sister, allowing her to finish it off. Jacob could see the discomfort on Zeynab’s face as she stood up. Her lip twitched as pain shot through her feet to put her dish in the sink to wash. “Jacob, do you plan to go back to school?” Viv’s mother chimed in. 

 

He fell silent for a moment. “I… I never went. Just finished high school, you need to finish it to join the service.” 

 

“Well, do you plan for college? You’re young,” she asked, taking a sip of wine. 

 

“Well… no. What’s the point if I’m just going back to Iraq or Afghanistan? I shoot people for a living, I ain’t smart enough for that high society stuff.”  

 

“I reckon you’ll be picking up trash when you’re veteran status then.” 

 

She framed it as a joke, even her husband chuckled at it. “I happen to know Jacob graduated at the top of his sniper training, do not think so lowly,” Viv added. 

 

“Yeah, I did. Ya need a 100 or more for sniper work, and… 87 for standard infantry.” 

 

Jacob always knew there was a disconnect between American civilians and American soldiers, sending votes in to send them off to war to come back shells of their former selves and then complain about the homeless folk littering the Rome streets. It made Jacob violently angry. 

 

To see his brothers dead in combat, to see his friends who survived begging for change in all seasons as rich folk in their towers looked down upon them like they were ants swarming a rotten animal. 

 

Zeynab washed the dishes and could feel his discomfort. 

 

“And what were you doing before you got here, Miss Ramla?” Viv asked. 

“Uhm, humanitarian aid in Pakistan.” 

“Really? That’s impressive!” said Viv. 

 

Jacob got up to dry the dishes and glance down at Zeynab’s tired feet, how she struggled to keep weight on it as she washed the dishes. She leaned into the counter and exhaled softly, the pain becoming too much. “You okay?” he mouthed. She nodded quickly. 

 

Ramla felt horrible for lying so boldly. 

 

Jacob swept up all the dishes and stood close to Zeynab, his body heat radiating into her dress. Her toes and feet ached still. She had stepped on Jacob’s boot and the pressure had been lifted for just and second. Jacob could feel her step off quickly, letting out a very low groan of pain. “Stand back on my boot, you’re fine,” he whispered in her ear. An ice-cold shiver ran down her spine when his beard ran over her ear. She stood up on the tip of his boot, the pressure from the hard blood escaping when she stood on his shoe. Jacob was the kind of man who needed to be needed, always put to work or made to make something easier for someone he cared about. He would happily take the world’s weight off her shoulders and become her Atlas. 

 

As the night came to a close, Zeynab had rested in the guest room, resting her feet on a fluffy pillow. Vivienne had gone to bed after kissing Jacob goodnight, suggesting she come sleep with him. Jacob preferred to sleep alone most nights now. He knocked on Zeynab’s door and all she gave was a soft hum to let him in. 

 

She wore a thin scarf as a turban, leaving the contours of her neck exposed. “You feeling okay?” he asked her gently in a thicker than usual southern drawl. “I’m fine, my feet just hurt like hell.” 

 

Jacob walked inside to see Ramla sleeping on the futon. “Don’t worry, you won’t wake her up,’ Zeynab patted the side of the bed for him to sit. He sat at her feet, resting his warm palm against the top of her foot. His hands were warm, but the skin was hard, war-torn and calloused. 

 

“Thanks for making dinner, it was delicious.” 

“I’m so glad you liked it, habibi. When you are hungry, you eat.” her voice was tender, sweet. 

 

Jacob ran his thumb over her foot. “Sleep tight, okay, honey?” he hated to leave her side, he would rather crawl into bed beside her and dream beautiful dreams alongside her. 

 

“You put up with too much.” 

“Do I?” he replied. 

“You aren’t stupid and you do not deserve such disrespect.” 

“Don’t worry-” 

“Oh, I worry, Jacob.” 

 

His head fell low and she went to touch his face but he turned away, expecting to feel the sting of a slap. She didn’t push the issue. 

 

“Thank you for being here, Zeynab. Thank you for saving my life.” 

 

She touched his hand, her touch was delicate yet so powerful. 

 

“You are so very welcome, I have your back, Jacob.” 

 

“Me too.” 

 

His thumb ran across her foot again and she touched his knuckles with the tip of her fingers. “Goodnight, Jacob. Dream beautiful dreams tonight.” 

 

He smiled. 

 

“Oh, I will.” his voice was soft, almost sheepish. 

 

He leaned in to give her a small kiss on the cheek. He hoped she did not find him repulsive, an ugly beast to be thrown away. She gasped lightly, bringing a hand to the back of his neck, feeling the textured skin, it felt flawless under her gaze. 

 

She didn’t let his neck go. “Jacob,” she whispered, looking down at his lips. She could see the contours on his chin and jaw, scaring and light patchiness on his face. Zeynab saw a perfect being before her when this being thought he was a repugnant monster. 

 

She ran her nails over his nack and up to his hair. 

 

She pulled. 

 

He followed. 

 

Their lips met. 

 

Jacob felt at home against her lips, the comfort of jasmine tea from her mouth and into his, the softness of her tongue, the sweet taste of milk and honey filling his mouth from hers. 

 

His hand touched her face, her silky skin felt inhuman under his weathered hands. 

She pulled away. 

 

“Dream beautiful dreams, Zeynab.”

“You too, my dear.” 

 

It pained them both to have him walk away. 

 

The morning would reunite them in either joy or tension, their shared kiss was both a blessing and a curse. 

 

_ Dream beautiful dreams.  _ He thought as he hung up his dog tags. 

 

_ Dream beautiful dreams.  _ She thought as she pulled her scarf off, her hair cascading over her shoulders. 

 

Jacob thought of her right after he closed his eyes. 

 

The feeling was mutual. 


	8. Turmoils Written in Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of suicide and graphic violence.  
> posting at 12:30 am after hours of studying, be kind :)

One month later. Late August 

* * *

* * *

When Jacob felt a fist pop him in the nose, he wrapped a hand around his Roman nose, blood pouring from his nostrils and down his throat. “You fucker!” Jacob shouted, running after the attacker at full force when he felt his wallet missing in the pocket of his jeans. Heavy boots chased down the culprit, further cracking the neglected walkway. Jacob had chased him into a back alley, tackling the man into a bed of trash bags and rotten cans. Jacob’s face was smeared with blood and snot when he spat on the ground, the bitter irony taste making his taste buds tingle. “Give me my fucking money!” Jacob shouted, his nose blood dripping down his chin and onto the man’s face. “Give me my fucking money, punk!” 

Jacob gave him a heavy punch into the mouth, his knuckles scraped to hell from the messy fall into the concrete and trash juice. “Fuck you, Jacob, you were always a chump in juvie.” 

“Chris?” Jacob asked, his brow knitted together. “You were always a fucking lunatic.” 

Chris spat on the ground and then into Jacob’s face. “I know what the fuck you did.” 

Jacob was frozen for half a second, the rush of fury and will to survive. 

“Yeah?” Jacob perked a brow, looking down at the young man with a half-amused, half violently pissed off.

“You don’t know shit about me. Now, give me my fucking money before I smash your goddamn face into this pavement.” 

Chris threw the wallet behind Jacob. “Your ass is lucky I’m not going to kill you,” Jacob growled, pushing his hand into his neck. “Pretty soon you’ll end up like my old man with a broken neck if you keep fucking with the wrong people. If I  _ ever  _ see you again,  _ I will  _ knock every single one of your fucking teeth out --  _ so help me God.”  _

Jacob finished off his violent threats with another pop into his face, followed by another one, and another, and another. Jacob could not stop. He didn’t want to stop. 

He thought of his caregivers from his younger days, the scent of gasoline still burned into his nose, the ax handle he swung over his shoulder was so heavy but the rage powering it made it like a feather. The force, the vengeance, the thunderous strength behind his ax handle and fists shared a deadly kinship in violent delights. 

He left him to recover in the bed of trash and rotten food, storming off back to the house, he held his wallet tight in his hands and anyone who looked at him funny got a death glare like no other. Sure, his face was covered in blood, but he didn’t give a care. 

He didn’t bother knocking on the door when he walked in, but Viv and her parents were sitting in the kitchen. Jacob wanted to backtrack and reverse everything, he didn’t even want to leave the plane from Iraq. 

“What happened to you?” Viv’s mother asked tenderly.

“Got in a fight. Other guy looked worse than me.” 

Her father handed him a tissue and he held it against his bloodied nose, his eyes were still watering from the impact. 

“We need you to leave.” Her mother said. 

“What ya mean?” Jacob muttered, looking down at his blood and dirt-stained palms. 

“Our little girl is pregnant. Almost two months pregnant. With your child.” 

Viv’s tears still flowed like a river. 

  
“You do not work in the country, you do not go to school. It isn’t right for you to be here and not support this child. You and your friends need to leave by tonight.” 

Jacob didn’t have the words to speak. 

“I can’t argue with that…” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat only to have another form again. 

“I don’t wanna have to do this but… our daughter needs us now and with outside influence,” the older man began, his anger slowly dispersing once the logic of it all started to wash over him. “She needs her family now.” 

Jacob nodded. 

“I understand. I’ll be out of here by tonight. You have my word on that.” 

“You can talk to Viv before you go.” The parents left the room and Viv panned over to Jacob, shame running down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Viv, you don’t know… how…” 

“I know.” She said. “I know how sorry you are, don’t wallow in your guilt. It’ll only make it worse.” Viv said lowly, running her fingers over her cheeks. “Just… Just fucking go. Just go. Just get out, please, I need to think.” 

Jacob didn’t reply but he felt so damned stupid. So stupid. So endlessly stupid. 

When he walked down the hallway to gather his things, Zeynab and Ramla had their bags neatly packed and sorted, hanging on the shelves. They were dressed for the day. 

“Jacob, who did this to your face?” Ramla asked him tenderly, putting a hand on his. 

“I’ll tell you later, we just need to get out of here.” 

“Jacob is right, sister. But where will we go from here?” 

Jacob thought hard for a moment, Rome offered him nothing but drugs and street shoot outs. 

“ **We go to Atlanta.”**

No one would argue with that, Zeynab and Ramla had only seen Atlanta in the American movies. 

Jacob hoisted their bags over his shoulder like his old army gear and trekked out, the war tune of boots echoing from the hallway into the downstairs. If these walls could talk…

Jacob took one last look at Vivienne, who barely raised her head to see him for the last time. Her pain ran too deep, her heart was too heavy. “Peace be with you, Vivienne,” Zeynab called from the doorway. “I pray your children will be healthy, precious, and gifted.” Ramla chimed in, shutting the door behind her. 

Jacob didn’t speak but he led his flock. 

He walked and walked, but barely a peep from his mouth, the groans as sweat trickled down his back, staining the back of his army green t-shirt, and agitated grunts as drunk drivers sped down the narrow streets. 

“Ramla, are you alright?” Zeynab asked as she noticed her walk had slowed down. Ramla looked behind her to see a man following them far behind, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants in 90-degree weather. “Walk in front of me, on the wall,” Jacob instructed them, harsher than he thought. Zeynab pulled Ramla ahead of her and walked in front of Jacob. He was on edge, to say the least

. “Fucker tries anything I’ll kill him, right here, right now. Cops don’t give a shit about crackhead neighborhoods.” Jacob hissed. 

“Jacob, how could you say that?” Ramla asked him gently, her brow knitted in confusion. Was he always this cruel?

“Because it’s true. Pigs don’t care about this part of town. Know how many people I seen shot dead and cops did nothing? Too many. Feels like there’s no damn difference between Iraq and Rome.” 

Zeynab sighed. “I thought I came to escape Iraq, not come back to a clone.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ll never escape that. It’s in your blood, I know the feeling.” Jacob seemed to trail off, his last words hitting deeper in himself than he thought. Because he would never escape what he feared, no matter if he went seven thousand miles away. 

“Got any cash?” The man asked, his voice shaky and thick, his throat was parched and dry. 

“No,” Jacob spoke in a monotone. 

Ramla reached into her pocket to feel around for a few dollars she had gathered over her time in the states. “W-w-well maybe… the girls might have something? An arrangement?” he struggled to say, withdrawal and anxiety colliding inside his head creating a deadly mix. 

“No, no they don’t. And would you like to make an arrangement to fuck off before you piss me off?” Jacob snapped back, dropping the bags to the ground with a heavy thud. “Jacob,” Zeynab whispered, “please don’t, the man just needs money. Please do not hurt him.” 

She pulled Ramla closer to her, standing in front of her, still holding her hand. Ramla was tired of being on the sidelines, she broke free from Zeynab and walked away from Jacob’s dominate frame. 

Ramla handed the man her spare change and two dollar bills. “God be with you, brother.” Ramla touched his hands when she handed him the money. Jacob had only seen an act as kind as that from a distance, on a TV screen, or inside a SpiderMan comic. Jacob did not want to believe he was good. 

But was Jacob not the same man who fed hungry Iraqi children his MREs and spare water containers? Was he not the same soldier who held his dying friends in his arms, comforting them in their last moments before meeting their maker? Jacob could not stomach being good. 

The man took the money and thanked her profusely, a smile with crooked and missing teeth. “You’re welcome, brother. Please be well.” The man scurried off with the money and was lost in the bushes. “You’re wasting your time, Ramla,” Jacob snapped. 

“Am I? I had something to give him and I did! How is that wasting time?”    
“Because he’s just going to spend it on crack and blow. I know the fucking trash that lives here, a bunch of druggies, homeless and nobodies.” he picked up the bags and threw them over his shoulder again. 

“And which do you fall under Jacob?” Ramla persisted. 

Jacob turned his head to her, sweat dripping down his brow and to his cheeks. “A nobody.” 

The walked seemed to go on forever, he was an entire day from Atlanta. He had the funds for a cheap hotel for a night but he had no plan on sleeping until Atlanta. 

Come the afternoon, the sun was beaming down on the trio, Jacob smelled like a farmhouse and needed to stop and shower, but he didn’t care too much. His natural, masculine scent was his preferred cologne. They’d been walking for six hours, come 4’o’clock. Jacob stopped to drink his bottle of water, the water running down his chin and to his sweaty shirt. “Here,” Jacob hands Zeynab the water bottle and watches her drink, her dry throat was so thankful for the water. “Thank you, Jacob.” 

She passed the rest to her beloved sister and she crunched the plastin up in her bag. “How much longer?” Ramla asked

“Psh… I dunno, sunshine. Atlanta is an hour by drive.” he said with a shrug. “I’ll keep you updated, Ram, don’t worry.” 

She only nodded and kept walking even when her feet were aching, it was like training endurance all over again. Only this time, bombed-clad men didn’t stalk her with a rifle. 

“Can I ask ya something, Ramla?” 

She perked a brow at his remark. “Sure.” 

“You didn’t do humanitarian aid in Pakistan, did you?” Jacob questioned. 

Ramla swallowed. “N-no.” 

“I thought so, the way you walk proves otherwise,” he chuckled to himself. 

“I’m not judging. I just want to know what you did, who you killed for, ya know? But you’re young, really young.” 

Ramla sped up her walk to catch up to him, he stood so much taller than her. “Too young to join a real army.” she shrugged. The guilt she felt ran through her, the blasts of bombs replaying in her head when C4 vests were tested on piles of corpses. “Mhm, so,” Jacob looked behind him with a smirk on his face. Oh, he knew. “Infantry?” 

A part of Zeynab was amused by his questioning, but the other part was deeply ashamed of herself for letting her sister be swept into the soft arms of terror. 

“You could say so.” she didn’t sound too confident, she did not know what she did, what her men considered infantry or not. Though everyone held a rifle or a suicide vest, they all had one purpose, much like a normal military. Jacob smirked. “Oh, you see, when I was in Iraq, we were once ambushed by a little group of... Fucking  _ wannabe AQ.”  _

“That so?” Ramla chuckled, wondering if he was referring to her men. 

“It is so, looked damn ridiculous but hey, I wasn't there to judge fashion.” he laughed at his own shabby joke. 

Zeynab laughed. “What did they look like? How American are you?” she asked. 

“Just as American as you are Iraqi, sweetheart. Flesh and blood American.” 

  
  


Their talks seemed to go on for the hour, chit-chatting back and forth until they had to stop at a hotel. They’d been walking eight hours now and it was getting dark outside. They walked into the cheap hotel, flickering lights on the outside sign and cracks crisscrossing the walls. Jacob wanted better for his girls but this was all he could offer. It smelled of booze and cheap perfume, which really, described Rome.

Zeynab walked to the counter and greeted the man, a man who looked so much like her. “Hello, brother. Room for one please, rest assured the man with us is sleeping on the floor.” She joked with him, counting out her change. “Salam,” the man greeted. “Friendly faces are always nice,” he added. 

“Oh, na’am, you’re the first one I’ve seen here,” she chuckled to herself. “I do not have the last ten American dollars to pay, I am sorry, friend.” 

“Don’t worry, the room is yours.” 

“Ohh, thank you, brother! God bless you.” 

Jacob gave him a two-finger wave and carried the bags up the steps. Ramla seemed to be most excited about the place. “I’m going to shower,” Zeynab began, sticking her fingers under her hijab to scratch her itchy hair. “10-4, hun.” 

It was like heaven stripping in a creepy hotel and stepping into the hot shower. She hadn’t taken a shower - a proper shower in weeks, and how she missed the feeling of hot water running down her back like warm summer rain. The shampoo felt like plastic in her hair, the tacky layer making her fingers stick to the air. Cheap plastic from toys children would throw away after a week. 

Jacob sat on the bed, knees spread apart halfway. “Hey,” he said, “sit down. I wanna talk to you.” 

Ramla looked away from the window to speak to him, he didn’t look pleased, relaxed, or happy for that matter. He looked like a ghost. “Mhm?” 

“Since we’re out hiking together, I just wanna know a few things about you. That okay?” 

“That is okay.” 

Jacob shuffled in his seat, his jeans raking over his knees. 

“Who’d you serve under in Pakistan?” Jacob asked for the second time, only the first time he asked the Ramla in his head, he prepared his answers hours before, having an argument inside his own head with the nonexistent girl. 

“You really want to know?” Ramla asked lowly. 

“Yeah, I asked, didn’t I?” 

“You won’t shoot me will you?” 

“Don’t be silly. I don’t even have my rifle with me.”

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“Good.” 

He was liking this. 

He needed to know what she did. 

Ramla shuffled in her boots, wondering if she should be blunt or beat around the bush. 

“Al-Qaeda.” 

Jacob bit his lip and cheeks. “I shot a few of you guys, very few. Wasn’t my job though.” Jacob rolled his shoulders, leaning forward on his knees to look deeper into her eyes. “How’d you get out?” 

Ramla sighed, thinking back to that dreadful day. “I… um,” she shook her head. “I…” 

“Cat got your tongue, snowbird?” Jacob grilled the question with the hottest flame. “I did a lot of things. Took care of children, nursed the sick… you know.” she continued. 

Jacob relaxed to the sound of screaming pipes. 

“And I… one day was asked to…  _ become a martyr.”  _ the words pained her, ripping at her heartstrings. “Zeynab and I had talked over the radio and she told me about you coming to the US.” she continued, thinking back to that dark radio call. 

“So, when it was my time, I had to wear such a heavy vest. It hurt my back so badly.” 

She touched the back of her neck. “And I was supposed to go into the Mosul Port and…” 

She paused. “Well, you’ve seen the news, right, Jacob?” 

Ramla swallowed. “The man who drove me there is long dead. I killed him.” 

Jacob was deeply surprised. “And I had to remove the vest from my niqab. That was the hardest moment of my life.” She added...

Ramla gathered her thoughts. “I wasn’t scared, I was… clear in what God needed me to do; and that was survive... " Ramla clenched her fist. “And you know what? Taking off that vest was a privilege because so many girls before me didn’t have the bravery and I don’t blame them. It’s scary standing up to a man with a gun in his hands, a man who will tear your heart in front of the rest, the same man who  _ took everything from us.”  _

Jacob shook his head. “I’m sorry that happened to ya… reckon I was in a nasty spot when I signed up too. Certainly nothing like you, but… fresh outta juvenile detention, there weren't lotta options for a kid like me. Nobody wants to hire a felon.” Jacob had a lengthy criminal record for his age and he wasn’t proud of it. “I won’t justify what I did, cops sure as hell didn’t care why I did it, but… my brothers? I couldn’t leave them in that shithole of a house no more.” Jacob shook his head. “You know what it’s like to see something happen, you know it’s wrong, and one day, you’re brave enough to stop it?” Jacob quizzed. 

“Yeah,” she said, “I do. There was a girl I knew, God bless her now but… one day, the men of the camp wanted her to marry, she begged me to keep her safe.” Ramla gave a bittersweet smile when she thought of the young girl, so pure born into a world of darkness. “She was so scared, they’d already taken her ummi, I don’t know what happened to her but I saw her when they were done. Wrapped in white and put in the ground, it’s funny, is it not? The men who told me they would give me peace took her life? And for what?” She gritted her teeth. 

“I couldn’t let her suffer, it is not my way --  _ it is not our way.  _ I gave her food, water, and a small bag of clothes and told her to run. Find someone, anyone but Saddam’s men, they were the same, Saddam and… my men.” There was a pain in her voice, a deep pain, a fragility around her words when she recalled the memories. “So she ran, I told them she had passed from sickness in the night. I could not let her suffer, but I was scared before when I was younger. I didn’t help the kids, Jacob.” She whined, resting her foot on the ground. 

“You were just a kid too, snowbird. Don’t beat yourself up. I was just a kid too when I had to protect other kids. Kids smaller than me, kids weaker than me. I know, Ramla. I know.” Jacob urged, seeing the pain in her eyes. He saw a younger version of himself in her, a scared little kid who was forced into the dark and had to claw their way out. 

“You know, my dad used to beat the fuck out of my brothers. I have two of them, and he’d beat them black and blue. But you know what? I hated seeing them cry, so I took it. Took it for my momma too. My real momma. One who lived with me at the time… we didn’t share blood. But that didn’t stop me from keeping her safe even when I was a little kid. I grabbed a butter knife but my dad just laughed and he asked me ‘ **_what do you think you’re gonna do, kiddo?”_ ** and I didn’t have the words for it, I was scared.  _ Really scared,  _ Ramla. You’re brave, and you did the right thing.” Jacob’s words fell quiet, thinking back to that awful night in his life. “Kids don’t need to go fight, they don’t need to protect themselves, somebody else should do that for ‘em. Why didn’t someone keep me safe when I was 5 years old, tryna protect my momma. And why didn’t somebody keep you safe?” Jacob asked the hard questions, he wanted to ask when he was younger;  _ why didn’t you keep me safe? Why didn’t you protect my brothers? _

Ramla gave him a sigh. “I don’t know,” she said. 

“I just… I talk to Zeynab and she never tells me what she saw, she never tells me what she saw at camp.” Ramla complained, wiggling her feet inside her boots. “She loves you, that’s why,” Jacob gave her a half-smile, his upper lip twitching gently. “I love her too, which is why I told her what I saw!” Ramla argued the point, she still hated Zeynab’s secrets. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you what I saw with Saddam. I saw my brothers executed in front of me, I saw their arms burnt to a crisp under exploded cars. The same stuff you’ve probably seen, or caused.” Jacob regretted his last words but he refused to lie to the girl, not now, not ever. 

“I know what I did, I know the people I hurt.” She was so deeply guilty, lying to save herself and nothing good came from it. A waste. 

Jacob heard the shower twist off and the soft footsteps could be heard from beyond the thin walls. He could hear the tendons in her feet move against the cold tile, the shuffling of bathrobes being thrown over herself, oh Zeynab, did she know Jacob heard every movement? 

“We’ve all hurt people who didn’t need to be hurt,” Jacob muttered lowly, his mind flashing back to Miller, his best friend, his spotter. “Enough, Ramla. Zeynab don’t need to hear such sad ‘n depressing talk.” Jacob cooed, checking the clock to his left. 9:54 PM. 

The door creaked open, steam escaping the bathroom and droplets of water from Zeynab’s long hair rang in Jacob’s ears. Zeynab stood in the doorway, using a q-tip in her ears. Jacob’s eyes flickered when she turned off the bathroom light and walked into the main room, bare, defined feet against the wooden floor. Her bathrobe was long and fuzzy, fresh off the radiator in the bathroom. She walked into the main room, her long, shimmering hair fell down the back of her, the ends curling like Christmas candy canes. Jacob was awestruck. She was beautiful. Heavenly, ethereal in her all-white attire. Jacob diverted his gaze from her, perhaps she didn’t know he was there, but how could she not? She smiled softly, glancing over at Jacob. “Aren’t you polite,” she chuckled a velvety, warm chuckle. The kinds Jacob heard in movies. “Ramla, the water should be hot if you want to shower.” 

“Thank you, does it feel good to shower in a real one?” Ramla teased. 

“Feels better than using a stupid wooden bucket.” Zeynab laughed again, running her long fingers through her cascading hair. Jacob was trying not to stare. 

Ramla laughed, “Of course, of course. I’m going to shower and possibly sleep. All this walking made me so tired…” 

“Share the bed with your sister, I don’t mind the floor,” Jacob added in. 

Ramla had left to shower, her heart waiting to feel the hot water running down her chest. 

“You look comfortable,” Jacob smiled, his eyes still hesitating to look at her. 

“You can look at me, you know. What? Do you think I have snake hair and I’ll turn you to stone Jacob?” she cooed gently. 

Jacob smiled a toothy grin. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.” 

“Then what  _ are  _ you afraid of?” she asked coyly, perking a heavy brow in his direction. 

“Well… it’s just, you always wore a scarf. Covered your hair.” 

“And?” she asked. 

“And I respect you, Zeynab.” Jacob felt weird admitting this, of course, he had a great deal of respect for her, but something was missing from his words. Steam from her shower formed on the windows, fogging them up so they saw distorted views of themselves. Maybe it was their true selves. 

  
“I know that, Jacob.” 

Her voice was like silk to his ears. “I know you do. Which is why you can look at me unless you think I’m ugly! Haha! That must be it, isn’t it?” She laughed gently, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “No! No, I don’t think that at all!” He exclaimed, looking up at her without thinking. When their eyes met, she smiled. “That’s better, isn’t it?” she asked softly, cocking her head to the side. 

“Very much so. You’re… You’re beautiful. You have beautiful hair,” Jacob smiled at her, his lips dry and begging for chapstick. He licked them and Zeynab rolled her eyes. “Silly thing, don’t do that,” she reached into the bags beside the bed, digging for the homemade container of lip cream. 

“Think fast!” Zeynab threw the container at his hands and he caught it and wrapped his long, thick fingers around the tin. He smelled it deeply, hints of lavender and deep sandalwood filled his nose. “What is it?” he quizzed with a high brow raise. “It’s camel shit, just use it.” 

“Oh, I was unaware it smelled so nice! Thank you for enlightening me.” his scoffed. “You want banter? Please, do not put me through the trouble, hamar.”

“You called me a jackass, didn’t you?” 

“Perhaps.” 

He looked up at her with those icy hues, cutting into her like dancing ribbons. “Quit digging around in it, just use it, will you?” she insisted, watching him attempt to read the Arabic lettering on the back. She rolled her eyes. 

“Come here,” she said, though she walked over to him and gently took the tin from his hands and swept some of the cream onto her delicate fingers. She leaned down to his lips, resting a knee between his legs to balance herself. He sat stone still on the bed like a sleeping giant. Her eyes had lights flickering inside them as the alarm clock time kept blinking. Crimson numbers danced in her deep-set eyes and Jacob had to keep his eyes on the prize. “Can you open your mouth a little bit?” 

Jacob just as she asked and parted his lips. 

She ran the cream along his bottom lip, the sweet taste of honey falling into his inner lip. “Don’t lick it off,” she said softly, cooing a lot more than she meant to. Jacob gave her a boyish smirk. Her index finger ran along his bottom lip up to his top. He smiled against her index finger. “What’s so funny, habib?” she asked him softly, looking down at his shimmering lips, honey dripping from his lower lip. “It’s a mix of honey, olive oil, and lavender flowers. I used to make this all the time and give it to the women of the village. They loved it and knew better not to eat it.” her lips curled into a smirk, watching the very tip of his tongue dart to taste the mix falling in his mouth. It sank in quickly, his lips were soft and supple just as they should be. 

“But it tastes good,” he whispered softly, watching the flashing in her eyes. “It will give you a stomach ache, habib. Don’t be silly.” Her voice makes him crazy. 

Just as she said that she licked the remainder off her finger. “Do as I say, not as I do?” he chuckled as she broke her own command. “Correct.” she patted his cheek softly. “Baby cheeks, will they keep me warm in the winter?” a laugh rolled off her tongue. 

“Shut up, I don’t have baby cheeks.” He protested defensively.

“So defensive, habib.” She chuckled.

“Hey, what’s that mean anyway?” he asked with a boyish grin. 

“I will tell you later.” 

Jacob rolls his eyes. “You better not forget,” he doubles down. 

“Do you think I would forget my own first language, hamar?” she walked across the room, her hair still dripping onto the floor. Her eyes gaze out the window, the lights staining the windows like a starry galaxy. “Have I ever told you the story of my brother?” she broke out with a sigh. The nights always gave us memories of things we would like to forget, Zeynab suffered every night with dread rotting her brain away. Jacob shook his head. “No, you have not.” 

“He… was not my blood brother, but he was closer than my brother, not my lover, not my friend. The other half of my heart, my soul.” Zeynab walked across the window frame, gliding her fingers along the wood. “Surely you know of the conflict between Sunnis and Shias?” When she looked back at him, there was a dullness in her eyes, the former shine, the light, the love, was taken away by dread. 

“Honey, no American knows that story.” he had a sense of shame in his voice, feeling like such an idiot. Why didn’t he know? 

Zeynab shook her head. “The only people who truly know are the ones who kill and die for it. But my brother? Oh, he knew. He knew the pain I felt. We had met when we were just children in the city of Mosul, a place I spent much of my life in. We knew nothing of religion, we just loved the land as it was. He loved me as I was, I loved him just as he was.” Zeynab paused as she recalled the story, the darker memories overtaking those honey-sweet ones. “We were children, we did not have hate in our heart. Hatred is a man-made concept, you can not tell me that humans hate by nature. I did not care he was Sunni, he did not care I was Shia.” 

Zeynab’s eyes turned to slits when she thought of the people who tore their friendship apart, the adults who pulled a child’s life apart all based on religion. When she turned to Jacob, her entire face was contorted with disgust. Hatred. “I will never forget the jasmine flowers he gave to me, how sweet they smelled, the delicious flavor if you patted them on your tongue. It was a symbol of our friendship, so he claimed. But I knew he found them because they were beautiful…” 

Jacob was silent the whole time she called the story, it made him think of the flowers Joseph gave to him in the wilderness of their backyards. They were only dandelions but they reminded young Joseph of his beloved older brother. How wild and free they were, ugly to some, cherished by the buzzing honey bees around them. Jacob was the flower people loved to hate, the one they called weeds when they meant so much more to the world around them. “One day, when we were no longer the ignorant children, yet the blossoming teenagers, we began to feel the tension around us. Those around us pulled a rope with all their might to keep us apart. Unity scares the coward, Jacob. Unity scares the hateful, it strikes fear into the hearts of the willfully ignorant.” 

Memories began to flood back to her brain, filling her skull up with crashing waves of thoughts and mixed feelings. “We were 16 when they informed he would be sent away.” her story took a sudden turn and surprised Jacob, his eyes going visibly wider. “They sent him away to train under the Republican Guard - Saddam’s hellspawn. They follow direct orders from that devil, if he asks them to lick the bottom of his boots clean, they will. They must.” Zeynab’s eyes began to water, she tried so hard to fight back the painful tears. She never got over him, she never got over his friendship.

“One night before he left, we met in an abandoned shrine to Ali my great grandmother used to attend every morning until she passed. I remember it still. When he took my hands, I burst into tears, I could not contain my emotions at this point, seeing him in the blood-red beret. It was the same shade of red I had seen on the news when they showed the images of dead Kurdish fighters, reporters getting blood splashed onto them in the crossfire of recording. The same shade of red you had covering your neck back in Iraq.” Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks like the shower water from before. Her cheeks were stained as the salty tears ran down to her chest. “He told me how sorry he was, how the guilt overtook him, seeing me cry. He told me that he would never betray me.” 

“And did he ever?” Jacob had to ask the hard questions, his heart was aching for the woman in front of him, he saw himself in his unknown man. “Well, yes, and no. I don’t know what the worst betrayal was; when his brigade opened fire into a crowd of Kurdish and Shia folk or when I saw him take his own life from the guilt, only leaving me a fucking note. A note. The last words I ever heard from him were  _ I loved you just as Muhammed loved Hussain.”  _

Those words hit Jacob like a punch to the gut, he saw even more of himself in this man, every action, every word. 

“I was in that crowd and I hid inside a shop, running to the top floor. When our eyes met, it was like… staring down the barrel of a gun, feeling the cold steel against your skin. I pressed my hands against the glass and… just screamed. I screamed so hard I thought my heart was going to explode in my chest. I bashed all the windows out so if explosions happened, the glass would not hit people trying to hide.” Zeynab wiped under her eyes as her lips trembled, she could not stop the shaking from running down to her fingertips. “I went back to the shrine for my solitude but was met with… with… him. But it wasn't him. It was pieces of him. Shards. Bits. Whatever you want to call it, all over the shrine with a hand-written note. He wrote how sorry he was, how seeing the terror in my face made him think about everything he had just done.  _ I pray God forgives me, Zeynab, my light, my love. I pray you will forgive me, may you walk in peace and may God have mercy on my soul. Yours always, until death takes us - Afreen.”  _

Recalling the note was the hardest thing she had ever done, recalling her pain, and confessing this to Jacob lifted the invisible weight on her shoulders. Jacob lowered his head to her story, finding a little too similar to his own life before meeting her. Making and breaking a promise, having promised his brothers he would never leave them, but here he was, almost halfway to Atlanta away from them. “I’m sorry about your friend, Zeynab. Truly… I… I am. I don’t have the words to tell you.” he walked up behind her, looking at their reflection in the window, the city lights were flickering against their window reflections and something was pulling Jacob closer to her, his fingers touching the textured bathrobe covering her. “You remind me a lot of my brother, Joseph, he… kept me whole when we were kids. He spoke with a lot of beauty and feeling in his words, something an idiot like me couldn’t do, I still can’t. I don’t know how you do it, your words are like… I don’t know, they’re so… beautiful.” Jacob’s mouth didn’t want to cooperate with his mind, he fought back the stutters and stammers that came with talking to Zeynab. 

She turned to face him and cup his face tenderly, she could feel his skin tighten when her hand hovered over his cheek, a part of him thought she would abuse his trust and slap him hard in the face. But she didn’t, she was as tender as a bed of lilies swaying in the wind, kissing the grass beds around them. She looked at the scarring on his face, neck, and head. His sides were shaved clean with the thick tuft of red hair on the top. He still kept up with his military styles every morning, the routine never changed from the first day. Wake up at dawn, train, hunt, kill, sacrifice for your country. Jacob never failed that routine. “Stay with me, not just for tonight, but for forever. I have no one but you in this unfamiliar land, please, do not ever turn to the bullet to end your pains, I have seen too many men die of guilt and shame, I have seen too many men retreat into themselves.” Zeynab ran her hand down his cheek and to his shoulder, the muscle was tight and felt like stone rather than the muscle made my God. 

“Please do not end up like Afreen, stay the Jacob I know and cherish today, please,” she whispered softly, tears dribbling onto his shoulder as she leaned into him. “More Vietnam veterans took their lives after the war than died in it, please do not let follow in their footsteps, I do not want the number of Gulf War veteran deaths to go up when  _ they come home.”  _ she kissed his cheek, her soft, honey-scented lips billowing into his nose.

“I promise, you’ll have me until you lead me away from you until you make me go away,” Jacob whispered, bringing a rough, textured hand up to her hair. 

“That is never going to happen Jacob. Not in your wildest dreams.” Zeynab’s eyes softened, like the many cotton fields of Rome. Jacob kept looking at her lips and she kept looking into his blue hues, falling deeper into those ocean eyes. “Don’t ever leave,” Zeynab whispered, her nails running along his cheek and to his chest, his nerves burning under her baby-soft touch. Fireworks were going off, the tension was getting tighter but neither of them knew who would make the first move. Water pipes still screamed through the small building, the running shower drowned out the slow night traffic and it was just the two of them. Jacob began to sway from side to side, the heaviness of his boots beating through the wood floor. He touched her hair with softness, tenderness, and care. She felt peaceful in his arms, like the world around her didn’t exist, Jacob was her world, her universe, her cosmos. It didn’t feel right to kiss him, but God knows how badly she wanted to, how badly she wanted to taste his lips. To taste those Georgia sweet lips, peach-flavored ice tea dancing on his tastebuds. “Can I kiss you?” she asked softly. 

“Must you asked?” he chuckled, sending a rumble through her neck as he smelled her hair. “Everyone should have the right to choose.” her lips touched his and the fireworks turned into flames, burning down the troubles in their wake, giving them a path to follow through their journey to paradise. She held his face and moved to grab the back of his head, gently scratching his skin. He hesitated to grab a fistful of her hair but she craved his hands on her now. “Jacob,” she whispered deeply, stepping into his kiss even further. He backed into the window and the cold glass shocked his lower back as Zeynab’s nails raked up his back, his skirt following after them. He forgot about the next twelve-hour walk to Atlanta, she forgot about the struggles of getting used to American life, braving the big cities with her loved ones. 

With Jacob, she would walk into battle just to keep him safe, no matter how bloody things got. , Neither of them could pull away, neither of them wanted to pull away. “ _ Lover,”  _ she said between each kiss, her breathing intensifying with each passing second. Jacob wanted to slip his hands under her bathrobe but he wouldn’t dare overstep that boundary. He heard her say the word but he wasn’t listening to what she said, rather the sounds of her lips against his. “ _ Lover,”  _ she said again, catching her breath as she rested her forehead on his. “I told you I would tell you later,  _ habib.”  _ She gave him a breathy smile, her teeth resting over his kiss-swollen lips. Jacob’s cheeks were red at such a sweet name, a name he had never been called before. 

“Lover?” he asked, his brow lowset. “I’m not a lover, I’m a fighter,” 

he kissed her harder than before, wrapping his arms around her back to hold her closer to him. He needed her skin on his, her muscle on his. By God he needed her. “You’ll fight for what you love,  _ lover,”  _ she teased, gently biting his lower lip, her teeth leaving a slight imprint. “Damn straight,” he exhaled as he gave her another deep, passionate kiss. “Until the cows come home?” Zeynab questioned, making herself laugh at her own joke. “Yeah, I’ll fight until the cows come home,” Jacob cupped her cheek, his pinky running over her lip. Zeynab heard the shower door open and that snapped them out of their happy land and into reality. “Perhaps… I should change,” Zeynab cocked a brow at him, much higher than he thought was possible. “I reckon so,” he muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. 

“Turn around, I need to change, habib.” Zeynab untied the knot in her robe. 

“Until the cows come home?” Jacob teased. 

“Oh shut up, hamar.”

  
  
  



	9. The Greatest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for child abuse\racism\sexual content  
> not my fav chapter but ehhhhhhh

Atlanta, GA. The beginning of September. Past Jacob's 20th birthday 

 

Jacob was exhausted. He hadn’t truly slept in days just like on the harsh battlefields. “Welcome to Atlanta,” said Jacob, looking back to see the young women following him close behind, drenches in sweat and dirt from walking for another half day in the beaming sun. Zeynab held Ramla’s hand the entire time as they officially stepped foot into the big city. “It’s… dirty,” Ramla whispered to Zeynab. Industrialism at its finest. Ugly. Filthy. Uninviting. “I know it’s dirty. I hate big cities. They repulse me, imagine the forests that existed with hundreds of animals that lost their homes just because some lizard in a suit wanted to make cash? People are scared of you but really? They should be fucking terrified at the big men up top.” 

  
  


Jacob hated, hated, human beings. The vast amount of them. He detested their greed, their selfishness, their hunger for money, power, war, and lust. Everything about them. As Jacob grew older, he grew meaner, he grew colder, distant. Isolation meant safety to Jacob, cruelty meant security. “Zeynab, why don’t you wait outside and let me go in and buy us some drinks?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Sure. Go put a cold soda on your neck, you’ll feel better,” she said tenderly, much as a mother would. “Anybody looks at you funny, you come to get me, understand?” Jacob could not stress this enough. “Sir, yes sir!” Zeynab gave him a salute. 

  
  


Jacob pushed open the old, creaky door into the small gas station, smiling at the sleeping clerk. Jacob thought back to stealing candy for his brothers and he had the overwhelming urge to steal American candy for his precious girls. He looked behind him and saw them standing by the door, watching the birds fly around, beginning their migration into warmer areas. Jacob grabbed a packet of Tootsie Rolls and pitched them into his waistband. He glanced again to see the man sleeping still. He moved through aisle to aisle, slipping bags of chips into his jacket, Salt and Vinegar flavored and BBQ, the all American classics.

 

 Jacob felt a rush, the same rush he got as a kid when he stole for his brothers. The same boy never left Jacob’s heart, the same snarky little bastard who thought he knew it all, had it all figured it out. He grabbed three 99 cent sodas and set them on the counter. The man struggled to wake up, Jacob could tell he’d gotten high on the job. Heroin users were rampant in Atlanta and Jacob had the first-hand experience with them all over Rome. “Mister, wake up.” The man didn’t respond to him and Jacob was getting increasingly impatient. Jacob didn’t feel like waiting around and the place had no cameras, what could he expect from rural Atlanta where the rich men up top forget exist? Jacob just threw the sodas in a bag and left. He didn’t feel like waiting around for the man to wake up from his high. Jacob lost his patience a long time ago. 

He walked out of the store like nothing happened and Zeynab pulled him close to her, the tension in her shoulders falling when he came closer to her. “This man has been staring at me ever since you left,” she whispered, tilting her head in the man’s direction. Jacob glanced at the man for a split second and saw nothing but a scared little boy hiding inside a man’s body. 

 

Jacob was not scared. “Let him fucking try,” Jacob growled as he grabbed Zeynab’s arm and pulled her behind him. “If he has a problem with me, we can resolve it like men, don’t worry yourselves.” 

  
  


“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Zeynab whispered, reaching for Ramla’s hand. “I’ll keep you both safe, don’t worry. I led you into this mess and you followed me, it’s my responsibility to lead you out. It was you who saved my life. You’ve come seeking shelter and I will give that to you.” Jacob took another look at the man and he was long gone. “Come on, we need a place to stay for now.” 

  
  


Jacob had few connections but those he did know would be more than willing to lend him a hand. It felt like they’d be walking for weeks. Jacob had endless things to think about, he didn’t even have a car, stable income. He knew he’d be needed at a base at some point and he worried about his companions when these thoughts crossed his mind. Jacob knew they had green cards but that didn’t stop people from getting deported with clean records. That worried him deeply, more than the ladies knew. They did not have insurance, social security, or money of their own. The only thing they had were the clothes on their backs and green cards. They’d been forgotten in the system of immigrants and aliens, pushed aside after papers where cleared. No one cared about asylees down in these parts and by god they knew. Zeynab knew she’d have to defend herself from sickness because a hospital visit was out of the question. 

  
  


Walking in Atlanta was like walking into an industrial park, a concrete jungle of brick and stone. Cars zooming by paying no mind to the folks walking. Cities in a nutshell. Zoom by in your fast car and forget about those struggling on the sidelines. Buy the highest priced dinner in all of the city, buy a nice suit and tie and throw pennies into the Salvation Army bucket outside the Walmarts. 

Jacob felt sick to his stomach when he saw the charities for veterans outside supermarkets when those same CEOs could afford to pay the medical bills for those veterans. They’ll beg poor folk for money to help those in need when these same givers are just as desperate. Jacob knew it all, he knew companies had the money to support him and his brothers, and yet they offer a 10 dollar discount as some shit fast food place. Thank you for your service from the mouth of a rich devil was more an insult than a compliment.

 

 But the real thank yous would require spending money on the common rabble and they couldn’t have that, they’d much rather be playing golf and looking down at the beggars from their multimillion-dollar towers. Jacob knew that. Jacob watched as his brothers in arms starve in the street just as a rich man walked past, tossing him a penny just for show. Just as that same rich man exploits their willingness to fight, their devotion to protect their people. Yet the rich man only wished to sell war machines, bringers of death and destruction. Just as mustard gas was inhaled into a child’s lungs, the same man who set it off struggles in the big cities back home. No one won in war. Only the dead have seen the end of the war. 

 

Zeynab used her eagle eyes to scan the street, sweat dripping down her brow. She locked eyes with a man around 45 feet down the block dressed in all black. She stood her ground, firm and steadfast in this unknown opponent. “Who’s this wiseguy?” Jacob asked with a sneer, looking down at the same man. Zeynab took a step towards him, the gems on her flat shoes shining under the bright sun. The man gestured her slowly. Zeynab took another step. “Wait here, I think this man needs something.” Jacob didn’t want to hold her hand through everything, she’d be exploring American on her own one of these days. She walked down the block to greet the man, he had a wide grin on his face as she walked closer. “As salamu alikum, my friend. Can I help you with something?” 

 

“Are you a fighter?” the man asked with a satisfied smirk. 

“Have I got something to fight for?” Zeynab replied sharply.

“Do you think money is worth it?” 

 

She looked back at Jacob. “Yes, money is worth it.” Zeynab was pained to tell such a blatant lie, Zeynab didn’t care about money, she didn’t care about being rich. “I am in need of money. I’ve only been in the States for a short time and my friends and I… we need money,” she replied urgently. She would not plead to a man, most certainly not a man who she didn’t know. 

 

“Oh? Where are you from then?”

 

“I’m from Iraq, my friend.” 

 

“Oh, I knew you was some kinda dune coon.” 

 

“Pardon me?  _ What  _ did say to  **_me?”_ ** Zeynab clenched her fist, “ _ Do you think you can just talk to me like that?”  _ Zeynab was unsure if she should hold her tongue, she was a woman of great respect and wanted the same in return. 

 

“Would you prefer I call a dirty wop, but you ain’t Italian, don’t think so much of it. I’m offering you a killer job, sweetheart. Ya got a fire in ya belly.” He chuckled, reaching out to place a crinkled up paper in her hand before she tore her hand away. “I would prefer it if you called me Zeynab. My name.” Her tone was flat, monotonous.

 

 “I’m not a killer, I don’t kill for money. I do not kill without reason. If I take your bloodied money, how many bodies will I leave behind me?”  Zeynab retorted as she pointed her finger at the man. She looked behind her and saw Jacob standing behind Ramla, his hand resting gently on her hip. When she saw their tired, hungry faces, something clicked in her brain. A bright light bulb flickered from dimness into a sun-lit ray. “I’m not a killer, sir, but… I’ve got friends in need. A sister, a friend. What are… what am I supposed to do?” she asked, lowering her gaze in shame. 

“Boxing, sweetheart. You don’t kill anybody but they’ll sure as shit try and kill you with their bare hands. I reckon you've got a fair share of fights under your belt.” The man chuckled again, pleased with himself. 

 

“I don’t want to brag about my barbarism.” Zeynab shook her head, wondering what she was getting herself into for the sake of her companions. “Honey, if you can throw a punch, money is gonna be your middle name.” He handed her 50 dollars and her eyes widened. “Consider this a downpayment. Meet me at this location.” Just like that, he was gone. Gone like he wasn’t even there. Zeynab looked down at the paper, making out the slopingly written address. “Hey! Zey! What the hell?” Jacob barked down the street, he speed-walked down to greet her, his hands wrapped tightly around Ramla’s wrist. “If I can make money, I will not turn it down, God forgive the sins I have committed now,” her voice fell short. 

 

She pushed the paper into her pocket, she couldn't stand to look at Ramla, she had betrayed her. “Zey, are you sure about this?” she asked softly.

  
  


 “You fought enough before you came here, you don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to! I begged you not to fight for the rebels back home, and you listened to me. Why won’t you listen now?” Ramla pulled away from Jacob and grabbed her sister by her shirt. 

Zeynab had her run-ins with rebel fighters, opposition to Saddam and she thought about fighting beside them many moons ago.

 

“Because I have no choice! I do this for you, habibti! I do this for you, for Jacob, for all of us!” Zeynab clenched her fist until her knuckles were white. “I’ll do it, I don’t need anybody to fight for me, I’m a man, I fight and win my own battles.” Jacob didn’t want her doing this either, he didn’t want her to resort to bloodsport to make a living, she may as well join the Army for that.

  
  


 Ramla tore her hands away from her sister with a frustrated sigh, she wished Zeynab knew she wasn’t in this alone. “Come on, we need to get a room with this money.” 

 

Something switched inside Zeynab’s brain, she had left a warzone only to enter a hellhole of greed, bloodsport, and violence. She did not care about herself in these times, as far as she was concerned, she was the mother of two young, unruly children. Their walk to the next cheap hotel was silent, unspoken, and lonely. Jacob had never felt more alone when Zeynab shut him out and swallowed the key. She did not want to hear their voices, she did not want to say something she regretted with their constant poking and prodding. She did not care about spending all the money on the room because she knew she would earn more, she would not lose. 

 

Her entire body flipped a switch, the way she flicked the money onto the counter, her nails gliding over the wooden desk when just before, she handed the money directly to the man. Jacob knew she was angry, no matter if she was angry at herself, he wasn’t sure. 

 

Zeynab swung the door open and threw her bags onto the floor. “Zeynab, do not be like this,” Ramla reached out to grab her wrist but Zeynab pulled away. “Be like what? Do what I think is right for my loved ones? Nothing will stop me, sister! Tonight, I fight to win, God as my witness!” 

 

“Zeynab!  You’re being -” 

 

“Being what Ramla!? What would you have me do? Sell my body like a showgirl on TV?”

 

“This is selling your body!” Ramla threw her hands to her sides. “You’re no better than those damn showgirls!” Zeynab took a step back, utterly flabbergasted by such a comment. Jacob watched as she stepped back, envisioning his mother backing from his drunken father. “Are you kidding?” Zeynab raised a brow, her mouth opened in a breathy smirk. 

 

“I am! You sell your body for money to fight!” Ramla shouted, nostrils flaring. 

“What choice do I have? Let you starve? Let Jacob work into the ground? Leave us all hungry and unwashed? No! God strike me down before He sees me so lazy and selfish!” 

  
  
  


Jacob’s eyes fluttered softly, he could feel himself slowly leaving his own body in conflict. “You don’t know what I’ve done to get us this far, what I’ve done to get this far with  _ you.”  _ Zeynab would not tolerate such disrespect, even if it came from a place of love.

 

 “If only you knew what price I’ve paid for the wisdom I carry. If only you knew! Everything I have done for you, I’ve done it so you do not have to. God blesses the meek, Ramla. If I should be cast down into hell for you to kiss the gates of Paradise, I will gladly suffer for your eyes to witness the green birds.” Zeynab shook her head, she had to bite her tongue and withhold the anger boiling in her blood. Jacob had slowly crept into the bathroom, his eyes were glassy, cold, and empty. He felt his lungs expand with each breath, but he did not understand why they did it, he did not understand why he had to keep breathing at this moment. 

 

Jacob found himself in his childhood bedroom, the cracked drywall chipping with each step on the old wooden floor. Jacob was sitting on his bed, a cigarette resting between his lips. He inhaled the ivory fumes, hoping this would be his last puff until his decaying lungs would fall in on themselves. The sound of breaking glass rang through his ears, he was unsure if it was a whiskey bottle or the kitchen window his mother set pies in front of. Jacob was 15, his arms and legs still long and awkward, though he carried himself like a grown man in a Marine boot camp. He always wanted to be a Marine, they were supposed to protect the weak. He just wanted to protect his brothers and his ghostly mother. The girl next door, the girl with needle pricks in her arm, the girl with thick black hair, the girl Jacob loved. 

 

“Hey,” a dainty voice whispered through the window crack. Jacob turned his head and saw the same black-haired girl standing on the stained lawn chair by his window. “Opal,” he whispered, jumping up to greet her. He looked into her sleepy eyes and felt a tinge in his chest, the pain she held ran through her fingertips and through him when their hands touched. Jacob pushed his window up, paint chipping off in huge chunks with each use. “Come on, I’ll get you some water,” Jacob pulled the plastic cup from his dresser and ran to the bathroom to fill it up, he’d risk another beating if his father saw him running around with no socks in the house. Just something so simple would cause such a violent reaction. 

 

Jacob didn’t look at himself in the mirror, he’d pinpoint all the things he hated about his face and scrape off healing scabs just for fun, or so he thought. He rinsed the cup a few times, washing it out with cheap handsoap. His tight curly hair fell over his baby blue eyes, the crimson strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. The Seed household had no AC and Jacob suffered for it in the summertime. He wiped his brow and filled the cup with cold water for his friend. “Here, let me know if you want more.” Jacob sat beside her and rested his hand on top of hers, linking his fingers with her as she drank the water. “T-thank you, Jake. Mom’s drunk again and I… needed to see you.” Opal said gently. 

 

“I needed to see you too, Opal…” His voice fell short as she squeezed his hand. The silence they shared was a comfort in the hell they both lived in, for their homes were never silent. Always a screaming child, a cracking belt, and the rattle of a dog leash being used as a weapon of pain. Jacob lost himself in her breathing, even if it was ragged and clammy. He just needed her to be with him. “You don’t think I’m gross, do you?” Jacob asked suddenly. He felt gross, he looked gross in his dirty clothes and bruised skin. He looked like a bum and he felt like one too. “I know I ain’t showered in a week, my old man cut the hot water... rather the company did. He didn’t pay up, he never does…” Jacob paused, running his thumb over her dry skin. “He never does anything.” 

 

Jacob shook his head, he could feel his eyes filling with tears, the oceans inside his head were crashing against the dam, but the tiny cracks crisscrossing over the concrete would only crack under pressure. Opal ran her hand over his back, feeling the welts on his skin from under his thin white shirt. “I don’t think that about you, I think you’re really cool and strong.” 

 

Those words never left him. The air around them was humid and Jacob just wanted to jump in the lake with her, buck naked and swim until their legs couldn’t hold them anymore. He wanted to drown together, holding hands as the lake consumed them. Only then he would know true peace. He just wanted to take her away and ride away on quarter horses in the backwoods, picking peaches and flowers together. 

 

Old Man Seed could be heard spouting bible verses as he made his way to Jacob’s room. He knew what was coming and now he was just used to it. “Hide,” Jacob whispered to her, almost shoving her under his bed. “Don’t say a word.” 

 

“ _ Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell _ _! _ _ If you spare the rod, the child is spoiled!” _

 

__ The man shouted, holding a cracked leather belt in his hands, the buckle rested and worn. Jacob swallowed thickly. His skin flinched at the thought, the scent of cheap whiskey on his breath was enough to make him want to vomit. He learned begging made it worse, then he learned he was above that. Jacob wasn’t a beggar, he wasn’t born a coward and he wouldn’t let some old drunk make him shake in his boots. “Take your shirt off, child.” 

 

He spoke almost tenderly now. Jacob didn’t have to be told twice. He took off his shirt and folded it on his bed, straitening out the wrinkles with his shaky hands. Jacob got on his knees and bared his back to his father, waiting for his lashings. “You’re poisoning your brothers’ minds with that shit you make them read! You’ll send them to hell with that!” The belt cracked on his back and Jacob jolted forward, a stifled groan forcing its way between his teeth. “Hell! You'll send them to hell!” Jacob pinched his eyes shut and dug his nails into the sheets, the stinging pain making his eyes water. 

 

“Have you seen it? It’s filthy!” Jacob bit his lip so hard blood stained his sheets in a mixture of salty tears and iron. With each crack on his skin, the more his anger boiled. As far as Jake knew, this only made him stronger. Opal cried under his bed, watching his legs twist and turn against the bed frame. His toes dug into the wood floors and sharp splinters of wood stabbed his soles with each twist. Jacob stopped gripping the bed when the cracks were repeated over and over again, only his stifled cries could be heard between the slaps. Jacob’s legs went numb and he slid off his bed, his hands slamming onto the floor. Opal rushed to grab his hand and hold him tight, his tears rolled down his plush cheeks and onto her hand, cold and wet. 

 

Old Man Seed shut his door with a slam, stumbling down the steps in a drunken haze. Jacob laid there, shivering and scared. “I wanted to be strong for you.” His hand gripped her so tight his tendons bulged under his skin.  Every time Jacob moved, his skin ached and burned. His teeth were grinding into each other until the nerves were hurting too. 

 

“Jacob, can I come in?” Zeynab called from outside the bathroom door. She heard his painful cries, the names of two men she didn’t know, John and Joseph, she recalled. “Jacob, let me inside,” she called again. “Please.” 

 

Jacob didn’t reply. “I’ll wait for you if that’s what it will take.” 

 

“I’m sorry, Joseph.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe. Opal… Opal told me,” Jacob paused, his voice was still laced with tears, but he didn’t even know he was crying. Jacob hated crying… “She told me I was heaven-sent, I was supposed to keep you safe like an angel.” 

 

Zeynab felt horrible, bringing Jacob into her drama. “Let me in,” she whispered, jiggling the door handle. “I just want my mom,” Jacob muttered, “I just want to give my mom a hug.” He shivered, his body both hot and cold. Zeynab knew she’d be better off leaving him to rot in his own mind, decaying muscles spreading to his brain but she could not imagine things without him. She wished to know him longer, she wanted more years with him than without. She slid her back down the door, resting her head against the wood. “Maybe you are heaven sent, maybe that girl - Opal - was right! I think she was.” 

 

She rolled her head against the door. “I wish I had my ummi too.” She was unsure if Jacob was replying to her or talking to himself. Hearing him like this hurt her soul, if she could turn back time and give him a better life… 

 

“I bet you’re ashamed of me, mom. I’m ashamed of me too. Just look at me, ugly and mean. Ugly, mean, a sorry sop for a man.” Jacob whispers hurt Zeynab more than any bullet or knife in her flesh, hearing those words from a man like Jacob made her question everything. His mother didn’t get to kiss him goodbye before he left for basic training, he was all alone when he went off for his first tour in Iraq. He was always alone, even in a room full of people he was alone. 

"Zeynab?" he asked.  
  


"Yes, Jacob?" 

"You don't think I'm crazy, do you? Or gross, disgusting, a bum?" 

"You're the farthest thing from a bum, Jacob Seed. You're a hero." 

Jacob shook his head, he turned on the cold water and splashed it on his red face, his cheeks and eyes puffy. 

"I'm just a redneck with a gun, that's all anybody from Rome is. That's all they ever are." 

"Helen Keller was blind Jacob, Mohammed could not read when he wrote the Quran. We all have a chance of greatness. You're no different." 

 

Maybe she was right. What made him so different? 

Jacob reached for the door and unlocked it slowly, his hands had finally stopped shaking. "You're the greatest, Zey." 

"Muhammad Ali has that title, Jacob," she chuckled softly. 

 

"He's got nothing on you. You wanna box? Box hard, make Ali look like a bum."

"I'll do my best, for you, my friend." She heard the screaming pipes from the other room. "Enjoy your shower, habib. You will want to look nice for my fight tonight." She felt empty without him beside her, he had already seen her without her hijab and that was already intimate enough. Their unspoken feelings for each other could not be hidden any longer. 

Zeynab cracked open the door and locked it behind her. "Jacob, I want to help you," she broke out. Jacob didn't say anything but he left the curtain off to the side for her. Zeynab stripped from her clothing and laid her headscarf on the sink. When the hot water hit her skin, Jacob pulled her close and ran his tired hands over her back, leaving pink claw marks over her back. "Jacob," she breathed into his ear as the water dripped off her lips. Jacob had a roughness to him, his hard shell was impossible to crack without breaking his spirit entirely. "Was I raised wrong?" Jacob asked her, but he mostly asked himself that question. "Am I doing the right thing?" He asked again, letting the water run down his back and thighs. The steam filled the bathroom and fogged up the mirror. Zeynab's back was pressed against the cold tile, goosebumps kissed her skin just as Jacob did. It was hard for him to say her name, not because he couldn't, but because a loser like him wasn't worthy to say the name of the Woman on the Mountain; Zeynab, the Scorpion, the barer. A woman with a lonely, yet comforting name, a woman with a name spoken by prophets and adoringly said by worshipers. Jacob didn't think he was worthy of saying such a name now, after hitting rock bottom. Zeynab was surprisingly forward with him, grabbing handfuls of his hair and running her free hand over his shoulders. 

 

Jacob had been born again when their lips touched under the hot water. He had stepped into the garden of Eden when he truly tasted her lips and he never wanted to leave. Zeynab had waited for this very moment after their first kiss, it crossed her mind when they were still living at the Miller household, but she did not admit it to herself. A satisfied moan left her parted lips as Jacob held her scalp, treating her hair like precious gold with the most tender care and consideration. That alone made her feel so safe, so preciously cared for. Jacob always spoke so lowly of himself yet he held magical romance if he truly put his mind to it. 

He didn't say much, being with her like this was enough for him. "Jacob," she groaned between her teeth. His hands traveled down his thighs, his trigger-experienced fingers following the slopes of where her thighs connected to her groin. She dug her nails into his back, losing her balance as his digits worked gently. Jacob was gentle with her, figuring she had spent too much of her life hurting and in pain. His name rolled off her tongue like a melody, it was a sweet serenade for him. 

 

Her head rested on his shoulder, her eyes fluttered shut. "Jacob," she whispered, her voice hitchy and weak. A mix of both Jacob and the steam made her light-headed and rubbery-kneed. Jacob knew she weakening when her nails no longer dug into him. He kissed her neck, moving her long, dark hair away from her. His kisses made her hitch again, paired with the intensity of his hands, her body was more relaxed than it had ever been in all her life. 

 

"Zeynab," he finally said. It felt like jumping off a cliff but landing on a bed of clouds. Her name felt right, it felt true. So much so he wanted to continue saying it, but he'd say it sweetly. 

"Y-you're the greatest," she muttered against his neck, struggling to plant a kiss on his wet skin. It didn't matter who held that title, Jacob was the greatest man to her. 

_"I'll be whatever you want me to be."_

Jacob held her tight, allowing her to ride out the waves without passing out from all the steam. "I love feeling your skin on mine," she slurred in a haze. Jacob was unsure what to say because, in truth, he thought she would hate the feeling of his tattered skin on her soft canvas. But he was pleasantly surprised. 

 

Maybe he wasn't the greatest, but in the eyes of Zeynab and his brothers, he would always be the greatest. 


	10. Dead Men Are Heavier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After being in a horrible writer's block, I get this chapter out after letting it sit and collect dust in my docs. This is not my favorite chapter but I assure you chapter 11 will be more thrilling and the plot will move on :) I hate this chapter but I hope whoever reads it looks at it with kinder eyes than mine. 
> 
> writing this with a shitty headache and reading it over was like watching paint dry. end my eternal suffering.

  
  


Jacob didn’t think he would get this far, he didn’t think he’d be in a cheap hotel with the woman who saved his life. That same woman continued to put her life down for him, time and time again. She had two souls to worry about now, though she viewed it as a test from the man upstairs. Zeynab did not think she would make it this far either, finding herself in a filthy city with drugs and crime, fighting for money. It was underground and she knew she was breaking the law by doing so. What choice did she have? No matter how gentle she was, leaving her family to starve was never an option. 

 

She ran a wooden hairbrush through her hair, her eyes winced as the knots were pulled out in long strokes. “Hey,” a gentle voice called. “I… I wanted to say sorry for what I said,” Ramla chimed in through the crack in the bathroom door. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want this for us, Zey. You shouldn’t have to fight like this… God knows you’ve seen enough violence.” she continued, gently pushing on the door. Zeynab stopped brushing her hair slowly, the gentle crunching faded from her ears. 

 

“You’ve seen enough, sister. When I bury you, will you have bruises covering your pretty face? A bloodied lip? A broken nose?”

 

 Zeynab lowered her head, long locks fell over her ocean hues. “You won’t have to bury me tonight because I have no intention of losing. I have something to fight for and I am confident I will win.” Zeynab wasn’t so sure on the inside, she didn’t know who she would be fighting. There were no rules in this underground world, for all she knew, someone could bring a knife to a fistfight. “May I come in?” Ramla asked. “Na’am.” 

 

When she walked inside the bathroom, Zeynab sat neatly on the bathtub, dressed plainly and black. She pulled her hair back in a slick tail. “I don’t want to see you beaten black and blue.” 

 

The words hit Zeynab’s heart. “I don’t want you to worry about me. We escaped hell in another land, we escaped it all. You escaped the death grip of  _ Daesh,  _ just as I have escaped Saddam and his devil dogs. We will not enter another hell.” Zeynab replied gently, pulling the two ends of her ponytail as tight as she could manage. “We will not be burned again, I promise you that, Ramla.” Zeynab looked up at smiled at her beloved sister, her eyes looked so tired, she looked like she had finished a battle against the gods themselves. 

 

Zeynab reached out to touch her hand, silky soft skin caressing her sister’s hand. “There isn’t a thing in this world I would not do for you. If you asked me to die, I would. If you wanted me to fight to the death, I would. Whatever you ask of me, it shall be done. I promise you that, Ram.” 

 

Ramla excused herself and sat beside the sleeping giant Jacob Seed, he had crashed after his shower, he was snuggled up with the pillows curled around him. He slept soundly for once, his lip twitching from time to time. She sat beside him, a hand resting on his calf. He stirred in his sleep, moving away from her gentle touch. 

Zeynab pulled her hair tighter one last time, her eyes watered at the stinging pain. The artificial bathroom lights shone directly on her face, she noticed how tired her eyes looked in such bright light. She ran her fingers along her jawline, eyeing the healed knicks on her neck and below her ears from shrapnel ripping through her skin like razors. The memory of removing them replayed behind her eyes, the stinging pain as the warm metal was pulled from her skin. Blood trickled down at a steady stream, rolling down her chest and staining the old gray bra with crimson blotches. Slowly, she cut around the metal to pull out the larger shards, it stung to pull the metal out and her salty tears only made it ache more. The clattering of metal falling against the glass sink still haunts her, much like the clatter of metal tweezers falling on the bathroom sink in Georgia. ‘ _ Be strong, Zeynab. There is no need to fear. God is with you in every step.’  _ she had to tell herself those moons ago in a dusty bathroom in Mosul. Miles cannot separate memories. 

 

Jacob stirred in his sleep, his hands gripping the pillows. Ramla knew it was best not to wake him…

 

Jacob kicked the covers onto the floor. 

 

_ Why are you resting soundly, Jacob? Why aren’t your bones bleaching in the sun?  _

 

“No,” Jacob muttered, “ **_stop.”_ **

 

Ramla got off the bed and swore she saw her sister in this terrifying sleep tremble. “God bless your soul, my friend…” She lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Jacob.” 

 

He seemed to move away from something in his sleep, curling up in a tight ball, escaping the harsh belt lash. He flinched hard, holding his pillow around his front. Sweat began to seep through his t-shirt, his back coated in the salty mixture. “ _John,”_ he whispered, his voice cracked and pained from possible tears.  He gripped his pillow hard, his thigh muscles trembled rapidly, the pain of old leather ran through his body even as he slept.  Jacob muttered curse words under his dry breath, biting into the sheets beside him by instinct to stifle to cries of pain after a lashing. _You deserve this. You are riddled with sin._

 

Zeynab felt a tear running down her cheek, it didn’t feel like she was crying, what was there to cry about? She was safe, she was with her family, she had some money. Why did she have so many tears to shed?

 

 She didn’t know the woman looking back at her. Why did she dread opening her eyes to see her again? Even opening her eyes felt like a battle against the gods. To keep seeing her, the unknown nomad, was infuriatingly devastating.  _ Who are you? Why do you continue to stare yet say nothing?   _ Perhaps an alter ego, a persona she held up in American society. Who was she? Why does she look so heartbroken? So hurt, so melancholic? Where was that bright-eyed, fiery filly? Why didn’t she see  _ her?  _ That woman, that smiling, bright woman was gone in the flames that consumed Mosul. 

 

Seconds seemed to pass like hours. The 60 seconds it took massage her cheeks and under eyes felt like days. This felt like a dream, a simulation, a wicked trick by the devil. Shaking her head, she felt strange without her scarf. Naked. Something was missing. 

 

The gentle creek of her feet against the floor was enough to wake Jacob up with a scream, a quick thrash of his fists. His eyes darted around the room, the unfamiliar scent, the coolness of the sheets, it all drove him crazy. “Jacob?” Zeynab called. “Uhkti, please be a good girl and bring Jacob a bottle of water from the lobby.” “Right away, Zeynab.” 

 

Jacob’s head was pounding. “Fuck, fuck, shit, son of a bitch!” Jacob gripped the sides of his head and pulled hard on the curly red locks. Flashes of Miller, Viv, John, and Joseph all blurred together in his head. Miller’s smile. His smile. His godforsaken fucking smile. Why was it so bright? “Jacob, are you alright?” Zeynab asked. When she fingers touched his bicep, he recoiled like her touch burned like acid. 

 

“You don’t want to touch me.” Jacob hissed defensively.“I failed, Zeynab. I fucking failed.” Jacob’s voice cracked. “You just don’t see it, do you?” He laughed gently, confused by the mania tearing his brain apart. What was there for her to see?

 

 Who cursed her with such blindness? Was it not obvious Jacob was a beast among men, a savage who would die savagely?

“Jacob, please, will you look at me?” 

“Do you really want that? I’m hideous in every way possible, Zeynab. Ugly, hideous. I don’t understand how you aren’t repulsed by the sight of me.” 

 

Zeynab blinked. “Jacob, I… Do not be like this. Repulsion? Don’t be a fool, the only man I could find repulsive is the sinner, the murderer. Barely even the thief because even he needs aid. You need aid, Jacob. That is simple enough.” 

 

“Look at me! Tell me what you see! You’ll see a savage, redneck trash with  _ nothing. Nothing!”  _

 

“Don’t say that to me, Jacob. I have seen savagery in its rawest form and you do not fall under that umbrella. Surely your grandparents have told you stories of Okinawa where  _ true  _ hell burned, where men turned to barbarism. I pray you never see true savagery, Jacob Seed.”

 

Ramla pressed her ear against the door and listened in on their heated conversation, part of her was afraid to walk in and be scorned. “Tell me what you see!” he shouted. 

 

“Fine! Do you want to know what I see? I see a shell! An exoskeleton but you can’t grow. Flowers can not grow in extremes. But I don’t see a monster, nor a savage.” 

Jacob ran his hands over his face, clawing his cheeks down. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids were pale. The blue irises were dull, like cadaver resting on top of a cold, stainless steel hospital cart. “I killed him.” Jacob grinned widely, his teeth brushing against his bottom lip. “I killed him, Zey. I killed him and left him to rot. I let vultures pick him apart. I let nature reclaim him.” A laugh escaped him again, his fingers tore at his hair like an insane patient inside the wicked asylum. Jacob wasn’t crazy, not by a longshot, only the bloodshed forced down his throat gave him homicidal rage and tendencies. Joining the military was the perfect match for him, it’s murder with a good cause slapped on the front cover. Come home, tattered and torn only to get a boot shoved on your throat by the APD. Jacob was no different. 

 

Zeynab swallowed. “Who? Who are you talking about Jacob?” 

“M-Miller. My spotter. Viv’s brother.” 

 

To his surprise, she didn’t recoil in disgust. Rather, her eyes shut. “Dead men are heavier, aren’t they?” 

 

He didn’t know what she meant now, why did this woman speak in tongues his mind could not understand? Was she a fragment of his dreams, designed to help him cope with crippling loneliness? He wondered how she was in his life for so long, she stood by him through it all and nothing seemed to push her away. She had to mean something else than pure luck. She couldn't follow him for this long without some other motive. 

 

“Some things are out of our control, Jacob. War takes our humanity.”

“You haven’t lost yours if you care for a bum like me.” 

“You aren’t a bum, Jacob.” Zeynab kneeled in front of him and tilted his head up to look at her. He struggled to look her in the eyes, she saw too deep into him for his comfort. Her gaze carried too much weight. 

 

“Look at me, soldier.” 

 

His gaze brightened like a flame running down the curtains. “I do this for you, for us. I do this for  **_God,_ ** I do not care who has died by your hand. This… This Miller? I’m confident you tried to save him, you did your duty as a trooper. What’s that saying? You took it like a trooper?” 

 

Jacob’s guilt started to burn deeper. It felt like acid was being dropped on his chest and sooner or later, a gaping wound would consume his chest. “Zeynab, listen to me. I killed this man. I killed him, I took his life. I went against my code, whatever happened to no soldier left behind?! I fucking killed him! That’s why I stand where I stand! He walked so I could run!” 

 

Jacob tore his face away from her hands. He threw the pillow across the room, knocking a picture frame off the wall. He felt deranged, wild, like a feral dog in the city’s grip.

 She looked up at him as he stood up. He looked angry, violent. He stood tall and imposing like he’d shoot her down if given the command. The Jacob she saved, the Jacob she kissed so tenderly, the same Jacob she showed a great deal of mercy towards was a traitor. He walked around her and saw his face in that picture frame. The glass showed his true self and my god, did he hate what he saw. Zeynab’s hands crunched against the carpet. 

 

“I killed him. Lost… lost for over a week, in that Iraqi heat. We ran out of water on day six… I strangled him. Wolves were... Closing in on us, they’d tear us apart just as I tore him apart.” 

Zeynab’s heart dropped onto the floor and everything began to make sense. The puzzle started to form into a hellscape. “There’s nothing good in me, Zeynab.” 

 

When he turned his head to see her, she still sat on the floor like a statue. He couldn’t lie to her anymore, he couldn’t keep up that bullshit lie of being the good guy. 

 

“Get up, I don’t like seeing you like that.” He commanded as if he ruled over a great army. But to Jacob, this woman held a great, monstrous army in her chest. They can train anyone to fight, to kill, but not everyone has the heart to take a hit, to take the bullet in the chest. They can’t train heart into a deadbeat. Only a select few have a heart so willing to serve. 

 

She could say something snarky, something snide to the wounded man. Zeynab saw Jacob in red light, a bright, bloody red. She turned her head to him and those blue hues of hers had never looked so disappointed and ashamed. She saw him in his uniform, his rifle in hand standing tall. Like a trooper. 

 

Slowly getting up, she swept off her knees. Jacob could feel the tension in her fingers. “And surely you killed him for a reason, hm, Jacob? If he had no food on him, why? Why kill a comrade, Jacob? You aren’t evil, Jacob.” 

 

The way her name rolled off her tongue with such bitterness. “I don’t need to explain that,” Jacob replied lowly. 

 

“I have nothing to say, Jacob. Only that I hope this haunts you, shame is a gift from God. Lord knows my shame haunts me to this day. I say this not because I’m angry, I say this as a follower of God and I will forgive until my time comes.” 

 

Watching her walk towards the door was hellish. “Ramla, what took you so long? Go give Jacob his water, lock the door and don’t open it for anyone unless you hear my voice.” Zeynab saw her standing by the door, bewildered and disgusted. “Zeynab, just be careful tonight. Please.” 

 

Jacob walked into frame, standing behind Zeynab like Cerberus. The three-headed beast snarling and fangs dripping with ice-cold saliva. 

 Walking to this cursed place was hellish, neither of them shared a word but Jacob screamed at himself the entire way there. These underground fights were held  in a run-down apartment in the ghetto of Atlanta, a hotbed for criminal activity. People said this was a way off the street, though Jacob saw it as a pseudo-militia. Cowards killing each other for money, knocking teeth out for kicks. He lost track of how many neo-nazi tattoos he saw, all the felons seemed proud of their prison ink. Zeynab had no concept of this hatred, an Arabian woman in the west with little information on the inner circles of hate. 

Jacob stood close to Zeynab, keeping a hand on her forearm at all times. He hated this scene; criminals ruled this turf and he didn’t want to get cozy with this crowd. “Who’re you fighting?” Jacob said into her ear. “I don’t know, but I just know there is a 500 cash prize to the winner.” 

 

That wasn’t too terrible. 

  
  
To her surprise, a rugged man came walking up to her, bloodied towels sitting on his shoulders. "Here to fight?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "Come with me then, leave your friend." 

 

Zeynab gazed at Jacob before walking into the booming locker room. She felt naked without her scarf in a room full of men. Her hair was pulled tightly in the back, her locks shining under the cheap lights. "Change into this." 

 

Everything was moving too fast, she couldn't find her way around the sports bra straps. Finding a safe spot to take off her shirt felt like walking over glass, to expose herself in front of piggish men was not an option. The other fighters seemed preoccupied with their locker room talk, discussing what a nice pair the other female fighters had. They didn't have time to separate them into gendered groups, this was about making money after all. Sure, all of them were women-beaters in some way, shape or form, now they just had a better spotlight to do it in. Zeynab didn't care who she fought, only if she won. Another female fighter had walked through the locker room, Zeynab was unsure if she should feel welcome or not. A middle-aged white woman with a snarl stuck on her face, it looked like she'd been doing this a long time. Maybe around 35, Zeynab thought. 

 

By the time Zeynab had changed into the new top, she felt cold. Exposed. 

The floor was sticky and covered in sweat and blood. If brutality stood in human form, she was sure the men inside the room would take his face. Hate dripped from them. Pure, blood-red hate. She was just a Joker on a Jack, her brutality hiding deep down was nothing compared to these men. 

The same man from before called her back, even though she was unsure how he knew her name, only she hated how his strong southern accent made it sound.   
"You're new to this, I can tell. But this is bloody shit, there's no way I can ensure you'll get outta this alive. But we do have a couple of rules: No hair pulling, when we say break it up after the bell, break it up or you don't come back. You know what you're getting into the moment you step in that ring. Understood?" 

 

Zeynab thought for a second. "I understand, sir." 

"Alright, good. Just walk outta that curtain to meet your partner." 

 

Zeynab walked into the ring just behind the curtain, though it was a crudely made sheet. 

 

Jacob stood in the crowd, in the back with a gaze so sharp it'd butcher the entire room if they looked for too long. 

He regretted telling her this dark aspect of himself, to reveal the wicked secret to this heavenly woman, who somehow did not kick him on the curb. He had so many questions, so many things he had to know about her now. She had every right to spit in his face, kick him away and fight against him for the rest of her days. 

 

But she didn't. She chose to stick beside him even in these turmoils. She stood by him forever and a day. 

 

Even in these brutal fights for blood money,  she still kept Jacob in mind. 

 

_**After all, don't dead men weigh the heaviest?** _


End file.
